


Pray for What You Need

by adaille



Series: Castiel’s celestial cock [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BAMF Castiel, Canon Divergence, Castiel (Supernatural)'s Handprint, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Grace Kink, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Soul Touching, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wing Kink, season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: Asmodeus imprisons and impersonates Castiel, forcing Dean to confront his feelings and figure out what he needs from the angel.It takes him a while.###Cas was angry, Dean knew that.He’d been angry ever since Dean fought with him over his re-involvement with Lucifer. The whole I’m-gonna-go-off-alone-and-search-for-the-fallen-archangel plan seemed ill-advised, and perhaps Dean could’ve toned his protest down, but the sentiment stood.In Dean’s defense, they just got him back. It wasn’t fair that the universe needed saving, again. Always again, and again, and again. Cas was dead not even a month ago, lost to the Empty, and Dean just wanted him to take it easy for a bit. Stay safe.Stay here. With him.With him and Sam, that is.Or you know, just him.Whichever.Either, or.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be forewarned, canon is a bit of a mess in this. It’s Season 13-ish, but Cas breaks out of hell, not Lucifer, and he’s powered up, can fly/teleport/apparate, and hear prayers even if they aren’t spoken aloud. Things diverge heavily after Cas breaks out, as I was drafting before the episodes aired, and Gabriel doesn't have PTSD.
> 
> Also, Cas has tattoos, does yoga, and is packing an angelic version of Kelvin from Bad Dragon downstairs. Because...reasons.
> 
> [Deancebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deancebra/pseuds/Deancebra) kindly beta-read this for me after the original posting, and I’ve now updated all ten chapters in advance of timestamps being posted for the Destiel Smut Bingo. You can thank them for encouraging the additional smut as well!
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmodeus imprisons Castiel, and impersonates him in the bunker to gather intel and manipulate Sam and Dean. Lacking awareness of the bond between Cas and Dean, Asmodeus treats the brothers exactly the same.
> 
> The loss of the status quo sends Dean into crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings are posted at the end of the chapter.

Cas was angry, Dean knew that.

He’d been angry ever since Dean fought with him over his re-involvement with Lucifer. The whole I’m-gonna-go-off-alone-and-search-for-the-fallen-archangel plan seemed ill-advised, and perhaps Dean could’ve toned his protest down, but the sentiment stood.

In Dean’s defense, they just got him back. It wasn’t fair that the universe needed saving, again. Always again, and again, and again. Cas was dead not even a month ago, lost to the Empty, and Dean just wanted him to take it easy for a bit. Stay safe.

Stay here. With him.

With him and Sam, that is.

Or you know, just him.

Whichever.

Either, or.

And yeah, okay, Cas was back in the bunker this week, taking a break from his unsuccessful hunt. He was down the hall in his own bedroom right now. But things were off. Not tense exactly, but the little things Dean had accepted as normal were gone.

Cas wasn’t standing any closer to him than he was anyone else. There were no long stares, no hugs that lasted a bit too long. No excuses to be near one another. No surprise visits when he was fresh out the shower or watching him in his sleep. No soft brush on the shoulder or hip as they moved past each other in too close spaces, fingers lingering, seeking comfort in the touch.

It fucking sucked, it made his stomach ache, and no, Dean didn’t really want to think about _why_.

Dean even tried to bring him coffee with honey one morning, just the way Cas liked it, and he’d barely gotten a thank you. No gentle quirk of the lips, no smile hovering mostly in the crinkle around his eyes, no appreciative sip. He’d set the mug down without even drinking all of it, for fuck’s sake.

So yeah. Angry was one thing, but this? Just...ignoring Dean, as if Dean was...well, as if Dean was Sam. It was ridiculous. Petty.

“Some profound bond,” Dean muttered, touching the tips of his fingers to the handprint hiding just beneath his sleeve. The warm tingle that spread out from his shoulder felt almost like grace but was too weak to heal whatever was wrong between them. “Can’t even make it through one little tiny argument.”

He glared at the nearly empty bottle in his hand, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth squeaked. The tension was already settling in over his eyes, and he’d be lucky if he didn’t have a migraine tomorrow on top of his hangover. Fucking great. This was all Castiel’s fucking fault.

“I’m fucking done fetching shit for him and washing the fucking sheets he never sleeps on just so they won’t smell dusty. If he can’t get his fucking head out of his ass long enough to say thanks for a goddamn cup of coffee, I— _fuck_.” The flash of rage faded as quickly as it came, the ebbing heat leaving him cold and shaky.

Of course Cas was distant. He’d been to Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, the Empty, seen the cosmos, lived for millennia and watched the birth and death of stars and probably would witness the same for all of mankind. He was bound to get bored with Dean, eventually. But...it was supposed to be future-Dean’s problem, not now-Dean’s.

It was ridiculous, to come apart over something so stupid. Cas was an angel, a seraph, a former commander, for fuck’s sake. And male. -Ish. Angel in a male vessel. Whatever. They were friends. That was all.

He twisted the bottle in his hands again, then tilted it back for a swig, half of it sloshing down his chin and onto his shirt. _John would be so proud. Daddy’s little soldier boy, good with a gun and better with a bottle, just like him._

The whimper that escaped his throat flushed his neck with shame, and he hit himself up side his head as if to knock the weakness away. This time, the rage bubbling up twisted its focus inward.

“We were fine. It was fine, I was fine, he was fine, everything and everyone was fine the way it was. Had to fuck it all up. Just, had to fuck everything the fuck up. Do it every time.”

Another sip, and the cold returned, aching in all the bones he’d broken time and time again. Cas had healed each one when he’d rebuilt Dean, and after, but his body remembered the pain, remembered the weak spots, and it liked to remind Dean with phantom aches in all the places that were supposed to be healed. _This is what you’d be without Cas, a sack of poorly healed bones and scar tissue._

_This is what you’ll be again when Cas leaves your sorry ass for good._

“Don’t even know what I did,” he whispered.

The liquid sloshed amber in the light as he picked at the label with trembling fingers. “Not true. Was an ass. Overprotective. He hates that.”

Hesitant, feeling the words on his tongue, listening for truth. “Hates me when I’m like that. Hates me?”

The last swig burned a bit as it went down, though his throat should have been numb to the whiskey hours ago.

“No.” His finger stabbed at the air in his feeble attempt to argue. That sounded like the Mark. Like his dad. It was wrong, Cas said they’d been wrong about other stuff all the time, like him being stupid. So did Sam.

But…Cas lied sometimes. And...so did Sam. Just like Dean.

The bottle of Jack, despite all its promises, held no answers for him at its bottom. Dean had higher hopes for the Johnny.

#

He hadn’t drunk this much since Lucifer’s son aided Castiel’s resurrection all those weeks ago, and it was undeniably a bad idea, as it led to Dean sobbing out a prayer in his room at 3 a.m.

“Cas...hey, Cas, man, look, I’m sorry, ok? I just...I worry. I shouldn’t have gotten so mad about the whole stupid idea you had to go look for...no, wait, sorry, no, that’s not, that’s not what I meant. Go back. Back. Where was I?”

He reached for the bottle, but it was empty, and he let it roll off his palm onto the floor by his bed. His eyes tracked down as it settled on the floor, and the room tipped sideways before he was able to twist back and lie still. The bitter tang of stomach acid and whiskey soured his throat, but he managed not to throw up, the painfully bright fluorescent light distracting him from the urge.

 _Shit, I’m a...shit. Fucking, fucking mess, is what I am. What the fuck am I even...fucking_ Seraph _doesn’t want to fucking...fucking listen to a fucking loser whine at him. Never answers when I—newsflash, Winchester! All ‘m good for is...a gun...and honey coff...shit, not even. Not even that. Shit. I just...just wanted...just need...._

“Caaaas, come on, get your feathery ass in here, I want to...I need to talk to you. I’m sorry. I...please? Just come in here. Come...come in here. Come in me. I mean, shit.”

He half rolled to sit up, then flopped back over when the room spun. “Fuck.”

 _Fucking loser, that’s, that’s what I_ —

#

Dean was surprised he could remember the prayer the next morning, despite the subsequent blackout, but wished he couldn’t.

The prayer hadn’t helped, after all. Cas must not have accepted it as a real apology, either because of the rambling or because Dean was drunk off his ass or because he had to go and insult Cas at the start of it.

Either way, Cas acted just the same. He wandered into the kitchen, and greeted Sam first, of all things. No deep, gritty _Hello, Dean_. Worse. _Hello, Sam_. Then, just _Dean_.

Like Dean didn’t matter at all. Like he wasn’t wearing the angel’s freaking handprint on his arm like a calling card left behind after a cheap hook-up. Seriously, what the fuck did Cas want?

Rage flushed through the hunter, hot like arousal but making all the bones he’d broken ache again with cold. _What do you want from me, Cas? What, you want me to be like Sam now, is that it?_ The silent prayer came out as a hiss in his mind, bitter and forceful.

The angel didn’t even look up, instead leaning over Sam’s shoulder to peer at something in the newspaper. His brother excused himself with a mutter, slipping away from Castiel’s too-close hand on the back of his chair. Castiel shrugged, picked up the paper, and wandered out of the room after him without another word to Dean.

_Why don’t you want me, Cas?_

Dean flushed darker. Well, if that wasn’t needy and pathetic, nothing was. He tossed the egg carton back in the refrigerator, not giving a shit if they broke, and grabbed a beer. If no one else was going to eat, no point in cooking for himself.

The hydraulics and gaskets on the heavy door made the slam unsatisfying, and too silent for Sam and his new best pal to hear. _Like hanging up a fucking cell phone._

#

Another drunken night. Another blackout. But this time, Dean couldn’t remember if he’d prayed, or what he’d said if he had.

Castiel disappeared for three days, after.

The hunter swore to himself he’d do better, and tried not to pray again. Cas needed space. Dean could give him space.

Dean wasn’t that needy. He didn’t have to unravel like a spool of yarn falling down the stairs. He’d spent most of Castiel's time in the Empty drunk; it was too easy to fall back into a bottle, that was all.

Cas knew where he was. Maybe it was Dean’s turn to play hard to get.

His resolution lasted the first two days as he helped Sam research in the library. It lasted through Sam leaving to help Eileen with a hunt. It lasted the whole day after that despite Dean’s mostly liquid diet.

But...Cas left his trench coat draped over a chair in the war room when he’d fucked off to wherever he went when he wasn’t with Dean (and Sam, always, always Sam). He ignored it at first, but when Dean picked it up to move it, he caught a whiff of ozone as the fabric shifted in his hands.

He held it to his face, breathing the lingering scent into his lungs with soft huffs, nuzzling deeper into the coat to chase after it. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like Cas was hugging him, and Dean’s nose was buried in his shoulder, inhaling his friend’s essence.

He felt a coil of heat building low in his stomach, same as when the Seraph held him. It was only natural, he was touch-starved, Cas was warm, and he smelled fantastic—anybody would react to that scent.

_Fuck. Why the fuck am I even trying to—it’s not like John’s around. Sam doesn’t care._

For a moment, he felt brave. He could do this. If Cas came back, if Cas held him again, hugged him like he mattered...he’d do anything the Seraph wanted. Pride be damned.

He carefully replaced the coat on the chair, and went to grab a beer.

#

A fresh handle of liquor on an empty stomach, and it seemed like a great idea to cuddle with the trenchcoat on the couch. Naked.

The angel chose to rejoin the team at the exact moment when Dean was rutting against the inside of the coat, moaning Castiel’s name as his erection soiled the lining. At the sound of laughter, Dean rolled off the couch in a panic, landing tangled in the tan fabric on the floor.

It wasn’t a nice laugh, and he blinked stupidly for a moment, trying to reconcile the sound with his friend’s face. Had Castiel’s laugh always sounded that way? Had Dean ever made him laugh before?

“Well, well, aren’t you desperate for it?” Mirth coated every word. “This is a nice surprise.”

Dean tried to sit up and nearly puked. His second attempt went better, and he stared blearily in Castiel's vicinity, trying to focus on Cas and not on the shininess of the overhead lights forming an aura around his body. “I said ‘m sorry, Cas.”

“Sorry for what?”

“You want me to say it, you kinky sonuvabitch?” Frustration pushed back against the drunken fog clouding Dean’s brain. “I’m sorry I tried to tell you how to do your...your angel stuff, Cas. Couldn’t find Lucifer anyway. Worried for nothing.”

Cas moved closer, but his smile looked wrong. Dean tilted his head. No, that wasn’t the way his Cas smiled at him. But then Cas hadn’t been his Cas lately, had he?

“Want you to be...want things to go back the way they were, Cas. ‘m sorry I fucked it all up.”

Cas looked at him, almost curiously.

 _Cas, Cas please, just...say something. Anything._ “Cas, please.” His tongue was too thick, the words hard to form. _Don’t make me say it out loud, I can’t say it out loud. Just...touch me, please._ “Please. I need you.” _I need all of you. I can’t live like this anymore. I lo—_

Castiel gripped his chin, forcing his gaze back up. “You need me, do you?” He paused, his eyes tracing Dean from top to bottom, lingering where his erection was still attempting to tent the tan coat over his lap. “Stand up.”

It took several tries, but Dean managed to wobble to his feet, holding the coat in front of himself. _You’re scaring me, Cas, ‘m confused, I just—_

“Drop the coat.”

Heat shot through Dean’s body, spiking his arousal higher, flushing his cheeks bright pink. The flush spread down his chest as he reluctantly dropped the coat to the floor, exposing himself for the angel’s inspection. He felt a pulse in his stiffening cock as Castiel's eyes trailed over his body, and looked at the wall.

“You just crave submission, don’t you? All this stubborn mouthy nonsense, it’s just you begging to be put in your place, isn’t it?”

“Cas?” _Cas? What...what are you...I mean...you know I...shit._ Memories of Castiel pinning him against the wall, in an alley, against Bobby’s kitchen counter, dominating him, forcing him to comply, all of them flooded his brain and fed his arousal. The flush deepened and his need coiled tighter, lifting his cock towards his stomach. A bead of precome pearled at the tip, and he whimpered, eyes falling closed.

“Eyes on me.”

He blinked them open. _Cas, what’re we doing? Are we...are we okay now? Does this mean we’re ok? You want me?_

Cas laughed, low and brutal. “Bit too much pie and beer, eh? Not in your twenties anymore.” He jabbed at the pudge of Dean’s lower stomach, ignoring the stiff cock begging for his attention. “Maybe you should spend more time in the gym and less in the pantry.”

Dean hung his head, but Cas rebuked him again for looking away. Words flitted and spiraled through his brain, too fast to catch, impossible to stop. _I don’t...my body doesn’t...I don’t please you? I...I can be better. I’ll work out more. I can run with Sam. Or...or yoga. I didn’t, I didn’t mean to get fat and sloppy._ “Cas, I—”

“Silence.”

_God, I mean, your father, I mean, um, fuck. Don’t look at me like that Cas. I...I can’t tell if you want me or not. You look so—_

“Get back on your knees.” Cas gripped his shoulder, the wrong shoulder, and forced him down hard enough his knees protested the strike against the floor.

_Wrong shoulder. Wrong shoulder._

_Cas, that was...wrong shoulder. What—_

“You want to submit so badly. You think you’re somehow enough to interest me? Me? Do you know the kind of power I can wield, boy?”

_Cas—_

“I can have anyone I want. Take anything I want. And I’ll take what you’re offering, you dirty little worm, but make no mistake, you are nothing, and you will always be nothing.” Castiel gripped his hair hard, causing the unshed tears in his eyes to trace streaks down his cheek. The angel’s free hand reached toward the zipper on his own slacks.

_Cas? Not Cas, can’t be Cas—yes, Cas. Looks like Cas. If Cas wants—was gonna let him do whatever he wanted, if he came back, and if he—no, no, no no no. Cas wouldn’t say—_

Dean’s mind stuttered, playing the memory of those venomous words on repeat, fueling and mingling with the already internalized cruelty and self-hate, boiling to a fever pitch.

The hand in his hair tugged his head forward as its partner reached past the zipper, dulling his thoughts to a shapeless roar.

Thunder crashed; electricity surged to all the lights, brightening them until the machinery in the room whined. Lightning splintered the air, bursting two bulbs into darkness and leaving spots dancing in Dean’s eyes.

“You will release him. Now.” _That voice._ He knew that voice, that rumble, like gravel crunching under Baby’s wheels and the best sex he’d ever have, like heaven’s wrath and hell to pay.

The hand fell from his hair, and Castiel stepped back in shock. “You...how…” Dean’s brain stuttered. It wasn’t right, he’d been too drunk to realize, but now, it was more like Jimmy than Cas, but not quite, it was—

“You will not touch him again.” There, yes, that was right, that was—

Dean turned his head, then blinked hard. Cas stood behind him, his wings out, eyes glowing bright blue with righteous fury and something else, staring past Dean at...Cas. The Cas who told him he was nothing. Fuck. If he was drunk enough to be seeing double, shouldn’t they be next to one another?

_Cas—_

His name had always been a prayer for Dean, but he’d never been sure what he was praying for.

“Hello, Dean.” The new Cas looked down at him briefly.

_Cas._

“Yes.” The new Cas answered him again.

_Oh, thank fuck, Cas._

A ghost of a smile crossed the angel’s face, and he returned his gaze to the Cas who sounded wrong once more. Dean scrabbled for his pants, and scooted drunkenly backwards until his back hit the real Castiel's legs. It took several tries, but he finally got his jeans on and buttoned, even as the other Cas sneered at Dean’s angel, taunting and shouting at him. The words whipped past Dean too quickly for him to grab onto, faster than the turmoil in his own mind. He leaned back harder, hating how badly he needed to feel that heat against the bare skin of his back.

_Pathetic, I’m pathetic and useless, Cas. Fuck, why did I drink so much?_

“Dean, can you stand?” the angel murmured, ignoring the other him for a moment. “I need your help.”

“Any...anything, Cas.”

Not-Cas laughed and flickered, his suit turning white as his beard grew, then—

Asmodeus.

_Shit._

“No one told me he could shape-shift,” Dean slurred.

“It was a surprise to me as well,” Cas replied, strangely gentle, as if Dean was delicate. Precious. “Stand for me, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘f course.”

He braced himself against Cas, and the Seraph helped him up, holding him tight with the angel's arm across his chest, his palm to the handprint on Dean’s bare shoulder as they both faced Asmodeus. Not-quite-grace quivered through him at the familiar touch, soothing the buzzing whine in his brain.

Dean realized Cas must be holding Asmodeus in place, as the demon was struggling to break free from invisible bonds. Cas leaned forward, his breath ghosting the curve of Dean’s ear. The hunter shivered, and his softened dick took renewed interest in what was happening.

“May I touch your soul, Dean?”

_My...soul?_

“I need more power than I currently have to defeat Asmodeus. I can hold him here, but not indefinitely. It’s draining me, and he needs to be punished for what he’s done.”

Dean whimpered at those words coming from Castiel’s mouth so close to his ear. Punished for what he’s done. His cock twitched, blood pumping downwards as his erection returned in full force, trapped painfully by his jeans. Punishment, atonement, penance...forgiveness.

Cas huffed softly, indulgent despite his obvious desire to smite. “We can explore that later, Dean. But I need to touch your soul to repower my grace. May I?”

“‘course, Cas. Anything you want.”

Cas pressed his lips beneath Dean’s ear, not fully a kiss, but not not-a-kiss, either. If Dean whimpered again, it was nobody’s business but his own.

Cas stroked his free hand softly down Dean’s body, excitement and heat trailing in its wake. It was too much after so many days of not enough. Electricity sparked through him, and he resisted the urge to free himself from his pants, rutting into the fabric instead, the zipper a painful line he ignored, desperate for friction.

”Cas,” Dean gasped.

“I have you, Dean.”

_You say my name like...like I matter. I missed that, Cas._

Cas stroked back up, and pressed his palm flat against Dean’s diaphragm. Fear trembled through him. Soul-touching hurt, he’d seen other men scream and writhe, overwhelmed by the agony of it.

“Cas?” He hated the quiver in his voice. He was supposed to be the tough one, the strong one, the alpha male of alpha males, but it was exhausting, he—

“I have you, Dean,” Cas repeated, and pressed in.

Dean gasped as the feeling of _Cas_ sank into him, lighting up the dark places that had shriveled and starved inside him. It was like being healed, being held, being penetrated, being loved, merging with the angel on a level that set his senses on fire, burning. He was burning, burning, his skin painfully tight, his cock agonizingly hard, and he couldn’t hold the angel’s grace forever, it would tear him apart, but God he wanted to, he never wanted to leave this space where only the two of them existed, it was...it was _home_. His need peaked and crested, his hips jerking in aborted movements.

He sobbed, writhing against the angel’s chest. “Cas?”

The angel, his angel, pressed harder, deeper, impossibly deeper, and Dean screamed.

“Castiel!”

When Dean came down from the high, sagging against the Seraph, he realized the angel’s hand was gone, and Asmodeus was laughing.

“You act all high and mighty like you care for this boy, but at the end of the day you’ll do anything for power, just like me. Look at you, hurting him just so you can get a little juiced up. How did it feel, him screaming for you to stop?”

Dean tilted his head where it lolled on the angel’s shoulder, watching the side of Castiel’s face twist as Cas sneered at the demon. “Dean wasn’t screaming for me to stop.”

“Boy wet himself, you hurt him so bad.”

Castiel’s wings flared. “That’s not urine.”

Dean flushed, glancing down at the wet spot in the front of his jeans. He shifted in Castiel’s grip, feeling the tackiness against his softening cock. He hadn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager. The loss of Castiel’s presence inside him left Dean feeling hollow, embarrassed as the endorphins faded. Needy. Exposed.

Used.

Asmodeus began to laugh again, but whatever he wanted to say was lost as he began screaming, his body lighting into flames even as blue burned brightly in Castiel’s eyes and across his dark feathers. When the demon was no more than ash, Cas lifted Dean into a bridal hold and carried him down the hall to his room. 

#

With a flicker of grace, he was clean and dry and sitting back against the headboard beside Cas, but not quite sober. He missed Castiel's wings immediately, but the angel's touch settled the negative feelings swirling in his stomach.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

He should ask so many things. Where Cas had been. What he did to Asmodeus, and how. If he was going to stay, or leave. Why he put his wings away. “So was that...that wasn’t you ignoring me, was it?”

“Never, Dean.” Castiel's jaw flexed, the movement so slight anyone less familiar with him wouldn’t recognize the tension there. “I apologize for not coming to you sooner. Asmodeus imprisoned me in hell.”

“How’d you get out?”

A twitch of the lips, and he brushed the back of Dean’s wrist, feather-light. “It seems extreme anger can overcome certain bindings placed on grace. Perhaps he should’ve done better research.”

“You were mad at being stuck there, huh?”

“I could hear what he was doing to you.” A whisper, barely there, but laced with grief and regret.

Dean drifted until his eyes startled back open, unsure if he’d dozed off and for how long. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Do you, do you think I’m, um…” He pressed a hand against his lower belly.

“I think you are the most beautiful creation my father ever made, and I am exceptionally pleased with you the way you are. Your soul is very bright, Dean.”

 _Oh._ “That’s, um, that’s good.”

Cas smoothed his hair and shifted as if to stand.

“Stay, angel?” _Fuck, what—_

“Of course, Dean.” The angel settled next to him again, still softly stroking his hair, neither of them mentioning the intimacy.

“Cas, why didn’t it hurt?” Shame flushed pink hot across his cheeks and down his chest at the understatement.

“I believe your soul recognized and welcomed my grace. When I rebuilt you, I left a little of myself behind to help you heal, and your soul embraced it and merged with it.”

“Oh. I guess that’s good, too, then.”

Cas smiled his barely-there and just-for-Dean smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Rest, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> There’s forced non-con touching and verbal abuse between Asmodeus/not-Cas and Dean that had the potential to get much worse if the real Cas hadn’t shown up when he did. Dean also spends some time harming his liver with alcohol.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things should’ve been different afterwards, but they weren’t.
> 
> Dean and Cas try to navigate the change in their relationship without talking about any of it, and it ends as well as you'd expect.

The next morning, Dean tried to talk to Cas about what happened, but sober, the words stuck in his throat. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. To ask.

Then, Sam was home.

Always, Sam was home.

Things went back to what Dean considered normal. The search for a way to save Jack and Mary resumed. Cas no longer treated Dean like his younger brother, even if there was a little more caution in their movements. An awareness of space and timing that they could no longer ignore.

Hugs didn’t last as long, and didn’t press as close, but there were hugs again. Cas would seek him out after several hours of absence, if only to ask for a book or song recommendation or the location of some object in the bunker. He rarely stepped into Dean’s room anymore, but lingered in the doorway, waiting for an invitation Dean couldn’t remember how to give.

Dean was careful not to pray these days, or drink too much. When he did, his mind started to whisper.  _ I came with your hand inside me, gripping my soul. _

That grip had lifted him from perdition years ago, but now he felt cast back down, adrift and confused.

He was never sure if Cas heard.

He acted out in small ways, but Cas didn’t respond, didn’t rebuke him. There was no lightning, no flares of power or wings or punishment. Only a gentle patience and a forgiveness that didn’t feel real when he’d done nothing to earn it, all soft lines when he craved the angel’s harder edge. Knew the harder edge was there.

#

Dean had asked once how Cas spent the long nights when he stayed at the bunker, assuming he read or watched tv. The angel evaded his questions at the time, but Dean had eventually stumbled across the answer on his own. 

Cas spent the hours in a mixture of meditation and a kind of angelic martial arts, almost a dance with his blade out, a soldier’s routine. The hunter could picture Cas leading his garrison in the maneuvers, training discipline and muscle memory through the long millenia. The repetition brought the angel comfort, he supposed.

Dean liked to sneak down to watch when he couldn’t sleep, and Cas pretended not to notice. It was beautiful and frightening, powerful but controlled. Full of hard edges.

Now, the angel still kept to his old regimen, but it was heavily supplemented with a new softer, gentler edge—yoga. Sam’s influence, no doubt. Dean had tried to practice with Sam a few times, but Sam had been too enthusiastic, and he’d never approached the mastery that Cas already had. Rapid, smoothly flowing patterns. Long-held poses, head upturned as if in worship, or supplication. Bowed in prayer.

Or tonight, supporting himself with a single arm, legs coiled in his loose sweatpants, shirtless for the first time, ribs flexing, showing off the dark ink trailing down one side, wrapping around his chest to his back. Dean’s breath hitched. Maybe this new regimen wasn’t soft or gentle at all.

“What are they?” He coughed to clear the squeak in his throat.

Cas opened his eyes, looking right at Dean, but neither startled nor shifted his pose. “Be more specific, Dean.”

“Your tattoos. When did you get those?”

Cas shifted his legs, moving into another pose, his eyes falling back closed. “Not long after Jimmy went to his heaven.”

“Why?”

“This vessel is mine and mine alone now. Why not?”

Dean shrugged and shifted, drawn to Castiel's side by fascination rather than conscious thought. He reached out a hand, then thought better of it. He could unbalance Cas, and anyway, why would Cas let him—

“You can touch them, if you wish.”

“What?”

“The sigils are only ink. Touching will not activate them. They are passive symbols of protection.”

Dean sighed out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Shaky fingers trailed over each line, finding Enochian woven in around the arcane. “What’s this say?”

The Seraph’s voice was reverent. “Something I would like to remember, always.”

_ I wish he spoke about me like that. _

Cas shifted his body, lowering his legs to the floor. He paused for a moment before standing.

_ Too close, we’re too close like this, too close— _

“Dean, are you alright?” Soft, a gentle request.

_ Move back, move back now, move— _

“Dean?” Firm, compelling him to answer.

Dean whimpered, his eyes falling closed, unable to move his body closer or farther away, frozen in the space between desire and fear.

“Dean.” Even firmer.

The hunter gasped and turned his head away, refusing to open his eyes. It was sleep deprivation, that was all, that was the only thing causing heat to flush and coil and wrap around him, causing those electric shivers spreading down in waves from his shoulders. He could almost feel the shadow of Castiel’s grace again, inside him, spreading out and—

“Dean, look at me.” The angel, his angel, gripped Dean’s chin, tilting it back up.

His eyes opened, shimmering from the fight. “Cas, I—” _ I don’t understand what I want. Can’t you just— _

Need pulsed through him, cutting his thoughts short.

“I think it’d help you to try it.”

_ Wait, what? _ His mouth moved, but the words didn’t come, and Cas still held his chin, just on the wrong side of painful. Or the right side.

“Kneel for me.”

Dean gasped at the command, thoughts and emotions tumbling over one another and leaving him half hard in his sleep pants, the thin fabric tenting slightly, leaving his shame exposed if the angel looked down. Embarrassment flushed through him.  _ Cas doesn’t even want me that way, he doesn’t even—but he wants me to kneel, and whatever he wants, I— _

He started to drop down where he stood.

“On the mat, Dean.”

_ Oh.  _ He shuffled two steps forward, and lowered himself slowly to his knees, resting on his heels, palms on his thighs.

“You don’t sleep at night. Meditation would soothe your mind, help you sleep.”

Dean chuckled, bitter and full of self-deprecation. “Not too good at blanking my mind, Cas. If I was, I’d be asleep right now.”

“You can learned. Try, for me.”

He did, he really did, but his brain wouldn’t still. His mind shared memory after memory of Cas, holding himself up by one hand, long trails of intricate ink dancing on his skin, dancing as he danced with his blade out, his blade out as he fought, too, body hard, just as it had been when he fought Asmodeus, as it had been when he backed Dean into the counter and demanded he—

“Dean.”

“I’m trying, Cas, I am, I just—”

“Would an incentive help you?”

“Incentive like…”  _ Like what, praise? A beer? Cookies? A blowjob? _

His cheeks pinked at his thoughts, no doubt highlighting his freckles if the way the angel eyed the bridge of his nose was any indication.

“Hm.” Cas walked around him slowly, studying him in a way that only deepened his flush and made his cock twitch. “For sixty seconds, I want you to count each time you get distracted. Watch the thoughts flow past like leaves on a river, or cars on a highway. Be aware of them, but don’t follow them. Any time you follow one instead of staying where you are, count it.”

“And after sixty seconds? If I don’t focus?”  _ What’re you gonna do, punish me? Bend me over and take it out my ass? _

The angel looked at him sharply, blue piercing into him, learning him, knowing him. 

_ Fuck, did he...did he hear me? Can he tell how bad I want him to just  _ do  _ something?  _ Dean shoved the thoughts down, trying to think of puppies, of Sam, of anything to calm the coil of heat coursing through him. Anything to make sure he didn’t pray at the angel, beg him for some kind of penance, some kind of forgiveness. Beg him to break the limbo they’d fallen back into.

Cas stepped over and rummaged in a locker, and pulled the belt from his suit pants. “For every time you lose focus, you will receive one stripe with this, on your back.”

_ Shit. _ Dean’s muscles locked, tension snapping his body taunt. Cas  _ had  _ heard. The red darkened until Dean knew his freckles would’ve disappeared in the heat. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed hard, staring at the leather strap doubled in Castiel’s fist. He shifted his legs to accommodate the rising swell in his sleep pants without thinking, then cringed in shame.

_ Stop it, he doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just doing what you asked, he doesn’t want you to get hard, he doesn’t want— _

“Dean?”

“O-okay. Yeah. Okay.”

#

It became a routine with them. Dean wasn’t sure if he sought out the meditation or the belt, but either way, he slept better afterwards. It helped him forget his inability to rescue Jack and Mary. Helped him forget Cas leaving and dying, dying and leaving, in so many different ways.

Helped him forget they were still in limbo, even if the status quo had shifted.

Cas encouraged him to use a stoplight system to let him know if it was ever too much, but Dean never said anything but green. Cas ordered him to hold different positions some nights, one after the other, each one a test of his stamina, which only improved as the weeks passed.

Dean wasn’t sure how Cas knew which nights he needed more, and when he needed Cas to stop, but he didn’t ask, and the angel didn’t share.

#

One pre-dawn morning, Castiel knocked on his bedroom door. When he opened it, the angel looked him over, his eyes dark, but his expression carefully blank.

“Join me.”

“O-okay.”

Cas was only wearing his sweatpants and was carrying what appeared to be blankets, so Dean dressed the same, then followed him into the chill of the bunker. He didn’t ask where they were going; it didn’t matter. He’d follow Cas anyway, and Castiel didn’t seem surprised by it.

Cas led him up the stairs and outside where the sky was just starting to pink with color. The angel walked to a small meadow nearby, and pointed to a spot where the grass was short and the ground smooth. He spread the two blankets out side-by-side, several feet apart.

Dean obeyed his gesture towards the mat on the right, and the angel stood beside him, then raised his hands upward, staring past his fingertips towards the sky. He held the position until Dean mirrored him, hesitant and unsure. Once Dean was also reaching, Cas bent forward at the waist, palms to the ground, again waiting silently for Dean to mimic him.

Cas led him through a full routine that way, not speaking, and it felt much longer than forty minutes, and much shorter.

He didn’t tell Sam when they got back.

He didn’t tell Sam when they went the next morning, or the one after that.

Dean still sought out their nightly sessions, no longer waiting for the nightmares, his desire for penance somehow separate from his need for sleep. He convinced himself it was proactive, that a couple of sessions a week kept the dreams away, and wasn’t this better than trying to calm himself after he’d already had a nightmare?

And wasn’t it still true, even after Cas started striping his clothed ass along with his back, then just his ass and thighs?

Eventually, Dean did have another dream, a hell-dream, when he was twisted and shameful and visited pain on others, pain he couldn’t or wouldn’t bear himself any longer. He woke, sobbing and covered in sweat, phantom pain from hooks and teeth and whips and knives carving into him. He didn’t deserve the things he had now, he didn’t deserve any of this. He deserved to be in hell.

Some part of him recognized the stubbornness for what it was, but the loudest part of his mind screamed he shouldn’t go to Cas; he didn’t deserve forgiveness. Even if Cas flayed the flesh from his bones and ground his soul into the dirt under his heel, it would never be enough. Could never be enough.

Dean was wrong, wrong, fucked up and dirty and  _ wrong _ .

It was almost an hour before he shook himself enough to seek out the Seraph. Cas would make it better, he always did, even if Dean couldn’t see how. He just had to have faith—he’d had faith once, and he went blindly, trusting the faith would return.

When he stumbled into gym, Cas gasped softly. Dean realized he must look like the hell he woke up from. The hell he should still be in.

“I don’t deserve to feel better,” he whispered, his brief confidence fading. _ I shouldn’t have come here, I shouldn’t have—I...but I need, I need, I—please, Cas. I can’t bear it. I can’t—  _

He wasn’t sure if that counted as a prayer, but Castiel answered it just the same. Shushing him with firm hands, pressing him into child’s pose with his palms folded behind his head. He keened at the contact, chasing the warmth, the angel’s heat, but Cas pressed him down again and withdrew.

“Five minutes, Dean.”

As always, he tried, but some part of him thrilled when he failed, counted each loss of focus with an exhilaration he didn’t fully understand. Counted each time the strap fell with an eagerness for the calm that came after it, the blankness and limpness and quiet that was easier and easier to find each time they did this. The sense of penance, of forgiveness from a being as old and unknowable as the stars. Of something he couldn’t or wouldn’t quite name. Something almost holy.

“Up.”

Dean obeyed, his limbs not quite trembling, but sluggish all the same. Cas had him kneel, again for five minutes. Again, he tried. Again, he paid penance.

“Up.”

His limbs were quivering now, tears in the corners of his eyes, beads of sweat shimmering on his bare back, his cock half-hard against the friction of his sweatpants. Cas had him sit with his feet touching and his knees out, folded forward over his legs. Five more minutes.

He needed fewer straps this time, his mind clearer. Each one fell across all the ones that had come before, pain blooming and re-igniting the fever under his skin, stiffening his cock and driving the salty droplets from his eyes to cut a path down his cheeks. He whimpered and shifted under the last two, and Cas soothed him with a hand down his flank like a startled horse. Soothed, but Dean burned and crackled with electricity and need under his touch.

“Up.”

Another position, another five minutes. This time, the fever under his skin didn’t abate, and his erection distracted him, as did the knowledge that Castiel’s eyes were watching him. He remembered coming untouched from Cas touching his soul. Nothing had been satisfying since.

Cas raised an eyebrow when he heard Dean’s count, and the dominance in the expression went straight to Dean’s cock. The angel counted off the strokes in counts of ten, letting Dean rest briefly between and requiring him to reassure Cas that he was green and good to go, his ass and thighs on fire, the sweatpants refusing relief.

After the belt had fallen twenty times, the strokes started to feel good.

After thirty times, he was canting his hips to meet them.

After forty, he was gasping and jerking his hips between the strokes, trying to meet the strap and seeking friction against the fabric binding him.

After he lost count, he came with a sob.

Castiel stopped immediately, dropping the belt. “Oh, Dean.” He knelt beside Dean, and scooped him onto his lap. “I apologize, I never should have pushed you so hard.”

_ Shit, what? _ Endorphins clouded his brain. His angel wasn’t making any sense. “Cas, that was, that was—”  _ That was awesome. _

He looked up into Castiel’s confused, brilliant blue eyes, and high on his orgasm, feeling more connected to the Seraph than he had in too long, he kissed him.

The angel didn’t kiss back. He startled slightly, and tensed instead.

Dean fled.

#

Cas came by his room and knocked twice, but Dean pretended he was sleeping. He tried faking it again when the angel came to get him for their hippie free love sunrise yoga session, but Castiel just started speaking through the door.

Dean didn’t want to hear what he had to say, couldn’t bear it, so he rushed out and down the hall. “Come on, we don’t wanna be late. Sun’ll be up soon.”

Cas followed quietly, his disapproval radiating off him in waves when Dean glanced back. He kept his eyes forward after that, and managed their morning routine with minimal eye contact.  _ Of course he disapproves. Of course he’s disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I get off on what he was doing? Why did I kiss him? _

#

The angel left him alone until lunch time, then tried to corner him in the kitchen. “Dean—” 

_ Don’t, Cas, just, please don’t.  _ Dean dodged the angel’s outstretched hand, his eyes down as he darted past, carrying his sandwich back to his room.

He didn’t want to hear the words from those chapped, kissable lips. Those unresponsive lips. The lack of reaction when Dean kissed him was enough, he couldn’t bear hearing the rejection out loud. Hearing the confirmation of how pathetic and ridiculous he was, how confused he was getting over what they’d been doing. 

It was nothing sexual. It was...almost old-school Catholic. Only Dean didn’t need to give confession before paying his dues, because Cas was intimately familiar with how fucked up Dean was, and how fucked up the things he’d done were. Only now, in this analogy, Dean had gotten off right in front of the ‘priest’, and tried to force himself on him. Fucking awesome.

He avoided Castiel for the next two days, both longing for and fearing the moment when the angel would ignore his pleas to leave things alone, until he didn’t need to anymore. Sam got a lead on Lucifer, and Cas left without saying goodbye.

#

Dean wasn’t sulking. Cas had every right to come and go as he pleased. They all did. Last time Cas left, he’d gotten captured by a demon and imprisoned and had to escape and save Dean from being violated by said demon, but you know, whatever. Dean could take care of himself. Dean didn’t need an angel to take care of him—or strap him until he came untouched, or touch his soul until he came untouched, or...do anything else until he came untouched.

He didn’t.

And it didn’t impact his decision-making when Sam got a lead on a hunt a state over. It wasn’t why he insisted on taking care of the vampire alone, without calling or praying to Cas, or waiting until the angel came back. And it definitely wasn’t why he tried to finish the hunt alone, even after the nest turned out to have four vampires instead of one.

And when he made it back to the bunker, as a failure who’d let one of the vampires escape, the first thing he saw was Cas, next to Sam, simmering in barely concealed anger, body stiff. Those hard lines.

His tired body thrummed, and he raged against it. Not now, not like this. He wouldn’t let it respond to Castiel’s anger, his dominance, not when Cas could just leave any time. Not when Cas didn’t want him back. Not when he was losing control of his reaction to the angel. He wouldn’t.

Cas opened his mouth, and Dean was done with his shit, with his judgement. Dean was a grown man, and a capable hunter, and whatever the Seraph was pissy about, he could fuck off, because they weren’t in the gym, and Dean could do whatever the fuck he wanted, and Cas had no right to say or do anything about it.

“Dean, why—”

“Did you find Luci this time? Or did you fucking fail at your one job again?”  _ Like I fucking failed at my job, too, letting a vamp run off. Aren’t we a fucking pair? _

Castiel’s brows raised for a moment, but the startled expression faded as quickly as it’d come. Blue pinned him, and he fought the way those eyes compelled him to stand down. He turned his rage outwards, his frustration at everything being shitty causing him to knock everything off the table, grind his teeth, pull his hair.

“We will find a way, Dean. I promise.”

“Oh, you promise, do you? Sam, you hear that? The angel promises.”

Sam flinched and made a hasty escape.

“Dean.”

He mimicked Castiel’s facial expression, mouthing  _ Dean _ back at him with exaggerated sternness.

Electricity crackled in the room, raising the hairs on Dean’s arms. He caught a flash of brighter blue glimmering in the angel’s eyes.

“Dean, I—”

“You know what, Cas? You can stuff it. Why don’t you fly off and look for Lucifer again. Oh, wait, that’s right. You probably used up all that shit-for-grace of yours on good ol’ As. Why don’t you take a  _ walk  _ and—”

Castiel was next to him faster than his eye could follow, gripping his elbow hard. “If you’re acting out to get my attention, Dean, trust me, you have it.”

“Oh yeah? And what’re you going to do about it,  _ Castiel _ ?”

The arm on his elbow tightened until Dean was sure he’d have bruises, and he was spun and pushed towards the hall. He struggled and fought, just enough to test the sensation of being restrained. When the hand on his elbow stayed firm, he felt heat coiling low in his stomach, and raged against the sensation. It wasn’t fair that the angel could do this to him, every time.

Not when Cas didn’t want that response from him. Didn’t want him.

Castiel marched him all the way to the gym, muttering words like  _ foolish _ , and  _ dangerous _ , and  _ stubborn _ , and finally released him with a shove towards the mat. Their mat.

“Strip.”

Another spike of hungry heat gathered, and he felt himself stiffening. He ignored the press against the inside of his jeans, instead raising his head and glaring at Cas in challenge.

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to call red, Dean, strip. Now.”

He attempted to raise an eyebrow back, but failed and twisted his face into a scowl instead.

“I will tell you one more time, and one more time only, Dean. Strip.”

Dean smirked. “If you wanna draw me like one of your French girls, all you had to do was—”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and he was on Dean before the hunter could finish. He had the power to grace away Dean’s clothes, but he chose to strip him by hand, snatching his shirt roughly over his head by the hem and yanking his pants and boxers down in one swift movement. He shoved Dean onto hands and knees on the mat, his knees screaming a protest as they slammed onto the barely yielding surface, and tugged the clothes free from around his ankles, leaving Dean sprawled awkwardly on the floor.

Before Dean could recover, the angel was on him again, gripping his hair too hard and tilting his head back as he was manhandled onto his knees. Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes from the tug on his scalp, and he hated it, even as he wanted it.

“Sixty seconds.”

Dean laughed, angry and mocking. “Why don’t you just assume my focus is shit right now, and I fucked up sixty times.”

“Very well.”

Cas laid his coat to the side, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. Slow and deliberate enough to give Dean time to think about what he was doing, to reconsider pressing every button the angel had that he could see and reach. Part of him thought he was crazy, thought he needed to apologize, to cry and to explain, knowing Cas would calm, would be soft lines and gentle forgiveness.

The louder part of him craved those hard edges, and smirked.

Cas stripped off his belt with a crack that went straight to Dean’s cock. For the first time, he was fully hard before a single stroke had fallen, his erection bobbing up towards his stomach, unconfined.

Castiel looked him over, and hesitated. The hard edges wavered.

“Come on, angel, what are you waiting for?” Dean taunted.

The reaction wasn’t what he’d hoped. The hand holding the belt fell to the angel’s side, and he searched Dean’s face, looking for something.

He tried to bait the Seraph again. “Thought you angels got off on the whole let’s-punish-the-sinners thing.”

The second the words left Dean’s mouth, he wanted them back, if only for the reaction they had. Cas blanched and dropped the belt.

“I apologize, Dean. This...we cannot do this right now.”

The angel whirled and left the room in a flurry of fabric, leaving Dean on the mat, his erection smearing precome against his stomach, angry and confused and unsatisfied. He keened before he could help himself.

He needed this. He needed this and Cas just left. Why?

Why? Wasn’t it obvious? He stared down at the coat Cas left behind, the coat that Asmodeus had caught him humping in a drunken bout of lust. The last time they did this, he’d kissed Cas, and Cas hadn’t wanted to be kissed.

Compelling and correcting Dean might do something for the angel, but it clearly hadn’t turned sexual for him the way it had for Dean. He could probably smell Dean’s arousal on him from three feet away, even if he couldn’t see how desperate his body was, ready to come all over their mat.

He slapped his own cock hard, hissing at the pain, then gripped himself cruelly at the base. It hurt but, right now, he needed to hurt. Needed to fight. If Cas wouldn’t be the shoreline for him to break against, he’d find someone who would.

If he could’ve just kept his arousal in check, he’d be feeling everything uncoil and release right now under Castiel’s hand.

_ Pathetic. _

Cas was right to leave. He didn’t want Dean that way, but surely someone would. Someone who could help Dean work through these emotions, even if it was with fists instead of a belt.

He wanted to take Baby, but her keys were in his room, and he didn’t want to run into Sam or Cas right now. The keys to the other cars were hanging on a rack in the garage, and he grabbed a set and fled the bunker, heading for a bar.

It was a bad idea to pick a fight in Lebanon, so close to home, but right now, he didn’t care. Everything was shit anyway. It was all shit.

Maybe he should just keep driving after this.

Not like anyone would care. Unless they could open the rift again, none of it mattered, anyway.

Even Sam was mad at him all the time. They fought almost every day some weeks. And Cas, Cas couldn’t, Cas wouldn’t—

_ No. Don’t think about Cas. _

_ Find someone else. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean continues to act out, and Cas finally gives him what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, warnings at the end.

Dean woke up in an alley, the taste of copper in his mouth. Sirens sounded somewhere distant, and he forgot to breathe until he realized the sound was moving away.

The first gulp of air shot pain through his chest; his ribs were bruised, if not cracked. A quick touch to his head left his fingertips covered with thickening blood.

_Shit._

_Stupid._

He couldn’t go back to the bunker like this, bloody and covered in filth from being passed out on the ground all night. What was he supposed to say? Never mind Sam, Cas would see right through him. Would know how pathetic and desperate he was.

He groaned as he stumbled back to the car he’d borrowed from the bunker. He’d planned on pissing the guy off; he hadn’t realized the guy’s friends would want a piece of him, too. Looking at his reflection in the rear view mirror was painful, and he turned it away as he drove at random, looking for a motel. He needed to get cleaned up and sleep some more.

The early morning sun was too bright, the other cars too loud. He squinted and tried to focus through the fog trying to settle into his brain. He almost didn’t stop in time to avoid a guy running across the road to his parked car, and pulled over, resting his head on the steering wheel.

Exhaustion closed in again.

He could just rest here. Clean up later.

Just for a minute, he’d just close his eyes for a—

His phone rang.

Fishing it out of his back pocket was a special kind of agony. Seeing Castiel’s name on the screen was another.

He hit the button to reject the call, then swiped his screen to unlock it. Twelve text messages from Sam and Cas, and four voicemails. Dean groaned and pressed his forehead back to the steering wheel.

His phone rang again. Sam.

 _Shit._ They just wouldn’t let it go, would they?

“Heya, Sammy.” He tried for cocky, but it came out like he’d gotten the fight pounded out of him before someone stuffed sand in his throat.

“Dean! God, Dean, where the fuck are you? Cas said—”

Bitterness collected in his mouth with the blood still pooling from a cut that wouldn’t clot. “Ooo, what did Cas say?”

“Seriously, Dean, what the fuck is your problem right now? Where are you?”

“Went to a bar. Figured I could have a good time for one night without everyone freakin’ out.”

“We’ve been trying to reach you all night, and you were picking up chicks?”

Dean could hear Cas in the background, and Sam covered the phone to answer him. The phone dropped away from his ear, and he considered hanging up for one blissful moment.

Sam’s voice brought him back, tinny and muted. “Dean, you there? Get your ass back here, okay? Please?”

He sighed, looking at the clock. He wasn’t that far from the bunker, and maybe he could get to the bathroom and clean up before they saw him. He had a bit of stage makeup in his kit, he could cover the more obvious damage to his face and hands. The split lip he could say was the result of drunken stumbling, or better yet, rough sex.

“Alright, alright, Sammy. I’m on my way.”

#

As soon as Dean pulled into the garage, the door closed behind him. His stomach sank, but he parked the car and made for the steps, trying to ignore the angel leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

“Asshole can be mad all he wants,” Dean muttered.

“I can hear you, you know.”

“Part of what makes you an asshole.”

“Dean.”

He slapped the keys back on their hook and stomped up the stairs, not looking to see if he was followed.

“Dean, we need to talk about this.”

He made it to the landing at the top and yanked open the door, only to have it pushed back closed. Cas crowded him against it, his body searing hot against Dean.

“Dean.” Voice firm. Too firm.

Dean’s stomach dropped when he felt the first stirring of arousal against his will, and shame filled him. Why was he such a fuck up? Why couldn’t he just go sulk in his room like a normal person?

Why did he like to be pushed around?

He snarled and struggled away, heat flushing through his body, his anger outside of his control, a thing apart. Cas let him go; Cas always let him go. Cas never fought for him, for _them_. Why would he?

Thirty minutes of hot water and Sam’s stolen shampoo cleaned his body well enough, but not his mind. Everything still felt too big. The fight had taken the edge off, but the calm passed too quickly; he was right back in the same spiral he’d been in when he left. He didn’t want to be angry anymore, but couldn’t see his way out.

He needed everything to be ok with Cas again, with Sam. He needed...he needed.

The towel was soft around his waist, and he left his grungy clothes in the hamper. A moment’s hesitation, and he turned away from his room, heading for the gym.

He folded the towel neatly and knelt on the mat. Cas would come eventually, and until then, he’d count.

#

Dean had fallen deeply into the silence, his body and mind limp, not realizing he was no longer alone until warmth brushed against him. His eyes blinked open, and he shifted, his knees long beyond protest.

Cas stroked his face, and a pulse of grace surged through him, soothing every ache and pain and the traces of his hangover. The smell of ozone and rain filled his nostrils, mingling with the fresh scent of shampoo that made him think briefly of Sam. It pulsed again, and there were no more thoughts of his brother, only _Cas_. Once more, and he remembered exactly how it felt to have the angel touching his soul. Arousal surged, hot and sudden, his brain too loose and fuzzy from his long wait to resist it.

“Touch me,” he whispered.

“I am,” Cas answered, tapping him again with the fingers against his cheek, stroking.

“No, here.” He brushed his fingers against his diaphragm. _Please, Cas. Just do it. I need it. I need to feel you again._

Cas reached up and touched the handprint gently, reverently, then pressed his lips to Dean’s lowered forehead as he pushed his hand into Dean’s chest, grace feeling for his soul. Reaching, reaching...there.

The light spread, merging and blending and replacing Dean as it lit him up, laying him bare. He was Cas, and Cas was him, and they were home. HIs body thrummed, and he was vaguely aware of the tears that had started falling in sadness and joy, grief and ecstasy, his emotions blending together in a chorus of notes that Dean felt rather than heard, transcending anything he’d ever known.

He spiraled higher, higher, his mind overwhelmed, whiting out to static, blanker than he’d ever managed under the strap, letting go of everything he hated about himself, feeling Castiel’s forgiveness, his...his…

Dean pushed back blindly, his soul reaching out, pressing through their connection, chasing that feeling, needing more, more, words falling from his lips, but he wasn’t certain if they were English, or what he was asking for as he cornered the feeling inside Cas, as he felt it spike as if it was his own.

Dean screamed, as he had when they confronted Asmodeus, but this Cas did something with his grace and Dean couldn’t come. He could feel Castiel’s grace, coiling cold fingers around the base of his cock, trapping his fevered arousal, calming his mind until he could focus on words and individual emotions again. Another scream and he writhed where Cas had him pinned by his shoulder, holding him at the peak, unable to come down, his mind steadily clearer in a way he didn’t want it to be.

“Please, Cas, please!”

“Dean—”

“Please, why don’t you want me?”

“Is that what you think?”

“Please!”

The grace uncoiled from his erection, and he came hard, spots flitting behind his eyes and whiting out his vision again. When he sagged back down, panting, Cas had withdrawn his hand and was stroking his hair where he’d collapsed against the angel.

“Cas—“

“How long were you down here, waiting for me?”

He scowled and shrugged one shoulder, the fuzziness of his orgasm clearing too quickly. “I dunno. Long enough.” His gaze trailed over Cas, and he realized his come had splashed on Castiel's thigh as well as the mat and floor between them.

Dean wanted to joke, to hide the sudden flood of self consciousness and fear coursing through him, but he couldn’t stop staring at the puddled fluid long enough for the words to form. Cas stopped his brooding with a stroke of one large hand down his back, letting it come to rest just above the swell of his hips, steadying him.

“So good for me,” Cas whispered against his ear, the rumble soft and familiar as Baby’s engine on the highway.

Heat coiled low, driving out the cold shame, and after another pulse of grace, Dean felt clean, dry, and half-hard.

“Did you count for me?”

Dean looked anywhere except Cas, but bobbed his head once. “Yeah.”

“Good boy.” Cas rolled his sleeves and picked up the belt he’d left behind earlier. “Bend over the bench for me, Dean.”

The hunter hurried to comply, uncertain whether he should spread his knees or leave them closed. Before he could decide, Cas pushed them hip-width apart with a foot.

“And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“When you need this,” Cas hesitated for a breath, his voice uncertain, then swelling with confidence, hard and unyielding, piercing straight to Dean’s core. “You will not seek pain anywhere else without my permission again, do you understand me?”

Dean started to protest, to lie, to deny what he’d done, but Cas brought the belt down where his thighs joined his cheeks. He jerked away from the bloom of pain, and relief flooded him, taking the edge off the need that had been unsatisfied for so many hours in a way even the orgasm hadn’t managed..

“Do you understand?”

“You left me.”

Another crack on top of the first. Dean hissed.

“I was angry and not in control. It wouldn’t have been fair to you. Next time, you will wait for me to calm myself and return. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, ok.”

Cas laid two stripes with angelic precision, one immediately above and one immediately below the first two. He didn’t ease Dean into it, and tears leaked from Dean’s eyes as he twisted and rocked into the leather bench.

“You will not leave the bunker without communicating with your brother or myself, and you will answer your phone in a timely fashion when you are away. Do you understand?”

Without giving him time to respond, Cas painted another set of lashes, one beside another all the way from the small of his back down to his knees, too fast to count. Dean gasped and jerked, his hands reaching to block the belt instinctively. Cas lashed his wrists behind his back with his tie, then pressed his clothed hips against Dean’s burning flesh, searing the marks into his skin with his body heat. He bent low over Dean, breath brushing the nape of his neck.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Another press of the angel’s hips, and Dean gasped as his cock dribbled a stream of precome onto the floor. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Now, what was your count?” Cas pulled away, and he heard the whisper of the belt as it brushed against Castiel's pants.

 _Shit._ How many lashes had he already taken?

“Um, sixty?”

The belt whistled down and bit the top of his thighs so hard he shrieked as the air left his lungs.

“Ok, ok, ok. It was...it was two hundred and ten. Cas, I don’t think—”

“Hush, Dean.”

He shifted against the cool leather of the bench, feeling the tightness and itchiness of the lingering heat from the strikes he’d already taken. The thought of taking that many more terrified and aroused him all at once, and his cock was painfully hard. It tried to twitch higher, but struck the underside of the bench, smearing beads of precome against the metal.

“Cas—”

“Do you trust me, Dean?”

“Yeah, ‘f course.”

Another crack, gentler than the last. “You will respect me while we are down here, Dean.”

He started to snark back, but his ass was already on fire. “Yes...sir?”

Cas hummed. “210. And lying to me about your count deserves another 40, which brings you to 250.”

Dean’s stomach dropped uncomfortably, and acid rose in his throat. _Shit._

“However, that number is far above what you’ve taken at one time to date, and you did so well to wait for me after your earlier...foolishness.” Cas tapped the leather against his inflamed skin, re-igniting the burn at the edges that had started to dull. “You will take fifty more now, and fifty each morning for the next four days, after our morning routine. Any additional indiscretions will earn you strikes in the evening. Is that understood?”

“Yeah...I mean, yes, sir. I understand.”

Cas tapped the belt against his skin again. “And?”

“And?”

“Do you have nothing else to say?”

“I’m...sorry?”

“Hmm.” Another tap.

“I...won’t do it again?”

A soft huff, capturing Castiel's doubt in his ability or desire to behave. Cas rebuilt him from hell, the angel knew how he was wired, Dean supposed. Another tap brought his attention back.

“I’m spending my valuable time, working with you and helping you learn to behave. Do you have nothing else to say?”

 _Oh._ “Thank you, sir?”

“You are welcome, Dean. Shall we begin?”

Each sir came a bit easier as his mind sank deeper. He was a soldier, but Cas had commanded armies. Age and power aside, Cas outranked him. He forgot that frequently.

Thinking of Cas as his commanding officer doling out punishment for disobedience didn’t help his erection, and he gasped and canted his hips when it twitched against the cold metal again.

“Please, sir.”

He felt the belt displacing air moments before it cracked vertically against across his hole, and he shrieked again. Cas set a steady pattern, each stripe overlapping the last slightly, and soon Dean was awash in sensation. Arousal ratcheted higher each time the pain burst across him then faded into dull heat, and he writhed against the bench and tugged against the knot holding his hands behind him.

After a single even pass from the top of his ass down to his knees, Cas let the strikes fall at random, impossible for Dean to anticipate. He’d forgotten to count, had no idea how many strikes he’d taken, nor how many were left.

Before long, he was shifting his legs wider and canting his hips into the strokes, tears and pleas falling freely, and Cas began to hit him even harder. Another strike across his hole, and he felt his balls tighten and he almost peaked before grace wrapped cold around the base of his erection.

“Cas, oh Cas, oh please, oh please, sir, please—“

Again the belt cracked, and again Dean wailed, humping and twisting against the bench with abandon.

“Sir, please—”

Two more.

“Please!”

Castiel's hand continued rising and falling, swinging the belt with a rhythm worthy of a metronome, and Dean’s tears evolved into full-blown sobs.

One final strike down the middle, and Cas draped the belt across his lower back. The angel smoothed his hand down Dean’s burning skin, then gripped his cheeks, kneading the flesh. The agony was terrible, and the best thing Dean had ever felt; he sagged into it, his limbs falling limp.

Cas pulled his cheeks apart hard, and he whimpered, knowing he had to look wanton, spread out in front of the angel who was now inspecting his hole. Breath ghosted across it, warm and humid.

_Shit, is he going to—_

_I’ve never, not there—_

_I never, even when we didn’t have enough money and I had to get some at those truck stops so Sam could eat, I didn’t—_

_I just, my mouth, God, they loved my mouth—_

_Cas—_

_Shit, it’ll hurt._

_Fuck, I want it to hurt. What is wrong with me._

_Oh, God, Cas, please, don’t tease, please just fuck me._

_Sir._

Cas huffed a soft laugh, and Dean knew he’d heard at least some of the turmoil his brain was screaming unfiltered into the room. The angel squeezed his hands tighter, and licked a strip up Dean’s crevice, catching his tongue against Dean’s exposed rim.

The hunter gasped, but Castiel's hands held him still as he continued to lave where Dean wanted him so badly. By the time he pulled back, pain and pleasure were so confused in Dean’s brain he could hardly focus on what he wanted anymore. He’d blanked out into a wash of need.

He wanted the angel closer, closer, impossibly closer. He wanted his angel inside him.

“Cas—”

“Such a good boy.” Cas smoothed a hand over the swell of his ass, then slid a finger back down his crack to press against his rim. “You took that so well, I think you deserve a reward. What would you like, Dean?”

_Fuck me, Cas, please._

“What would you like, Dean?”

_You, inside me, now._

“Dean, use your words.”

_Fuck me fuck me fuck me_

“Out loud, Dean.”

“Please don’t make me say it, Cas.”

Cas popped him hard with his free hand.

“Sir. Please don’t make me say it, sir.”

Cas removed both hands and the belt, and waited.

Dean twisted, seeking contact, unable to stand the neglect.

“Cas—”

The angel started to move away.

“Please, sir, I want you inside me.”

“Clarify.”

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight and then touch my soul until I come.”

“Good boy.”

He whimpered, relief washing over him at those simple words, the praise sinking into his skin, filling up his empty spots.

Fabric whispered as Cas undid his pants and shuffled behind Dean. Everything was quiet for a moment, then Cas gripped hard at the base of Dean’s cock. Dean shouted and almost bucked off the bench, grace still holding him back from finding his release. Cas stripped him with firm strokes, milking precome into his other hand.

Cas released him, and Dean turned his head to watch as Cas dipped a finger in the puddle he’d collected in his palm. The slick finger found his entrance and prodded inside, wiggling and shifting to the first knuckle, then the second.

With no more prep, Cas withdrew and coated his finger again, as well as the one beside it. Both pushed into Dean, scissoring and twisting, the burn as he was stretched too quickly mingling with the fire on his skin and the soreness of his arms, still pinned behind him.

Cas seemed to know how Dean wanted it without asking, and smeared the remaining precome on his own length as he pulled the two fingers out. The blunt head of his cock caught on Dean’s hold and pressed forward, and Cas pulled his cheeks apart for a better view as he sank several inches inside.

He rocked in and out, withdrawing all the way to the very tip before pushing in until his head popped past Dean’s rim, then pulled the ridge free again, over and over, teasing and torturing Dean’s barely stretched hole. Too much became not enough in one breath, and Dean tried to push back and take Cas deeper, but firm hands kept him still.

“Come on, angel, fuck me like you mean it.”

Cas chuckled. “The mouth on you, even now.”

“You better believe it.”

He tried to push back again, and Cas popped him, hard.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?”

“Please…”

“Please, fuck me already.”

Another smack, then a hard pinch and twist of a nipple. Dean would’ve come again just from that if grace wasn’t holding him back; he’d been on the verge so long he was almost mindless with the pleasure and the agony of denial. The need to sass the angel faded as he tweaked Dean’s sensitive nub again.

“Please, sir, please, I need more, please.”

“Hm.”

Cas pressed forward, splitting him open, inch by slow inch. He paused halfway to strip Dean’s cock again, collecting another bit of precome to smear along himself as he withdrew, then pressed back in, finally, finally seating himself flush against Dean. The burn was gone, and a soft pulse of grace sent Dean’s body into a frenzy.

Dean moaned, speared on Castiel's length, wanton and eager. “Oh, please, please, sir, please move!”

Cas obliged, pulling out until his head popped free of Dean’s rim, then sank in again in one smooth movement. He apparently decided Dean was sufficiently prepared, and set a rapid pace, pillaging and using Dean for their combined pleasure. Wordless sounds and screams fell from Dean’s lips, sobbing when Castiel's hips spanked into the marks he’d already left on Dean’s thighs and cheeks, begging when Cas pulled partially out, protesting the sensation of being empty.

By the time Cas gripped his hair and pulled Dean upright so he could press his free hand to Dean’s chest, Dean felt like his entire body and soul were burning to ash. Cas thrust hard and held himself deep inside, pushing Dean’s knees wider as he pushed his hand into Dean’s chest. Dean felt himself being penetrated by grace as it searched inside him, then wrapped itself around his soul.

The grace around the base of his cock relaxed ever so slightly, and his body seized as he came apart. Falling, falling, his body leapt from the edge Cas had kept him on for so long, but the end didn’t come. It ebbed and flowed, exquisite and almost painful, coiling and uncoiling and coiling again.

Almost blind with it, he looked down, watching as his cock continued spurting long streaks across the bench and the floor in front of him, an impossible amount. Grace heated and throbbed in his balls as he came, until finally Cas released his soul and withdrew his hand, and the grace from his groin.

He sagged back against Cas, and the angel nudged his face, angling Dean’s head with his nose until Cas was able to kiss Dean on the mouth. It was a lazy press of lips and tangle of tongues, and Dean tried to shift to deepen it, half-turning his upper body.

Cas stopped him, pressing hands on his hips, keeping him pinned in place with Cas still hard inside him, stuffing him full.

“We aren’t done yet, Dean.”

_Fuck._

_Fuck, yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS:  
> References to Dean inciting violence against himself, Dean being beaten ‘off-screen’ (not by Cas)  
> References to past underage dubcon/noncon, from when Dean had to earn money to support Sam when John was away


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally gets all of Cas.

Thankfully, Sam didn’t comment on Dean’s inability to sit or walk comfortably, or his new fascination with clothing items that weren’t jeans. Cas didn’t heal him at all during his five days of punishment, and by the end of the week, the lesson had sunk in. He couldn’t even walk past the gym without either popping a boner, or having to rub his sore cheeks through his softest sweatpants.

The urge to mouth off and fight and struggle was temporarily appeased. He slept well, did yoga every morning, and even went running a few times with Sam, ignoring the distracting friction on his sore skin. Food tasted a little bit better, even if he had to lean against the kitchen bar to eat it. He laughed uproariously at the tv on movie night from his spot on the floor, lying propped on a pillow on his stomach.

Things were good.

But.

Cas hadn’t fucked him since their last session in the gym, either. And watching porn, well, it just wasn’t the same anymore. Going to bar to pick up a ‘friend’ for the night wasn’t really appealing, either. Hadn’t been for a long time.

The angel seemed oblivious, even when Dean flirted hard enough with him for Sam to raise his eyebrows. Even when Dean walked around the bunker for an entire day without a shirt on, his loosest sweatpants hanging dangerously low off his hip bones.

Dean wasn’t quite desperate enough to pray, but was getting close.

#

“Hey, so get this.”

Sam wandered into the kitchen one morning, his eyes on the book in his hands. Dean finished fixing coffee for himself and Cas, and wandered over to the bar to join them. 

“There’s a tracking spell in here that might work on Lucifer. It’s a bit archaic, but we have most of the ingredients here.”

“Seriously? A spell that can track an archangel, and the stuff’s just what, lying around?” Dean took a sip of his coffee, then hissed at the burn. “Yeah, that seems legit.”

Sam scowled. “It’s not like the ingredients are easy to get. We’re sitting on a repository of ancient artifacts and ingredients, Dean. Plus, most people aren’t friends with an angel.”

“What’s Cas go to do with—oh, no, you don’t. You’re not gonna bleed any grace outta him for some stupid spell that might not even—“

“Feathers, Dean. I just need one angel feather. No grace. Seriously. And it’s Castiel's grace anyway, not yours.”

Dean mocked him for a moment, mouthing  _ it’s Castiel's grace, not yours _ with an exaggerated lilt. The angel raised an eyebrow, and he ducked his head, sheepish.

“I have several feathers I can give you, Sam. Do you need them now?”

“No, um, they have to be fresh, I think.”

Cas crooked a brow. “Let me know when you’re ready, then.”

#

By that evening, Sam had prepared everything else, grinding certain ingredients into powder, and carefully measuring others into small bowls. Sigils were painted, and incense lit.

The nook where his brother had set his station up was dim, and sandalwood and ylang ylang hung heavy in the air, underlaid with something acrid that tickled Dean’s nose and made him want to sneeze.

When Cas walked in shirtless, flared yoga pants low and sinful on his hips, Dean choked, then pounded his chest to clear his throat. Dean started to speak, but licked his lips instead, eyeing the tattooed patterns down Castiel's side, remembering how they’d looked under Dean’s grip.

Sigils, passive symbols of protection, interwoven with Enochian words and carefully detailed feathers, as darkly inked as his real feathers were black. Each dark line breaking up the expanse of smooth, pale skin; skin that was also displaying dusky nipples and a thin trail of hair leading down—

Sam tilted his head curiously, almost Cas-like, but Dean rushed to speak before he could comment on how long Cas had been watching Dean stare at his body.

“So, ready to get this show on the road, Feathers?”  _ Fuck, well that came out great. _

“I apologize, have you been waiting long? Are we driving somewhere?”

Sam gave Dean another unreadable look. “No, Dean’s just being Dean again. Thanks for doing this, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“So, uh, any time you’re ready,” Sam added.

“I am ready now.”

“Okay, then.”

Dean licked his lips again, eyes on Cas as he spread his hands a footspan from his hips and looked at the ceiling. Lights flickered and whined, and Castiel's eyes burned with grace, the air crackling as his wings flared out, air moving forcefully to either side, thrusting the scent of lightning and damp earth into Dean’s nostrils.

Luckily, his brother was too captivated by Castiel's wings himself to notice Dean almost swooning. He moved around the angel, commenting excitedly on their shape and asking questions about his wingspan and maneuverability. Cas humored him, but his eyes never left Dean.

The older hunter was afraid to move any closer to the Seraph; his palms itched to touch and stroke the wings in front of him and he didn’t trust himself not to follow through. The feathers were mussed and several were bent, begging to be straightened. He wondered if they’d be sensitive, if Cas could tell when his feathers were touched.

His question was answered when Sam reached out and ran a finger down one of Castiel's larger feathers, the ones Sam had called primaries. Cas hissed, his eyes flaring blue as he jerked the entire wing away from Sam.

“Don’t touch them.”

Sam backed away, hands up. “Wow, okay. I’m really sorry, Cas. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, but don’t do it again.” The angel trailed fingers carefully down his wing, apparently selecting a feather for the spell.

A sudden thought occurred to Dean. “They, uh, they grow back, right? Like a bird’s?”

Cas tilted his head at him. “Of course.”

Dean stood, moving closer to Cas, his voice dropping lower. “They, um, they look...um...did it hurt when Sam touched them? Will it hurt when you yank one out?”

“I was planning to take one that is ready to fall,” Cas said, and took Dean’s hand, placing it on his inner wing.

Cas whimpered when Dean’s fingertips brushed across the feathers, the noise too soft for Sam to hear, then cleared his throat to speak. “Like this. Feel the spines. Tug them, gently. Gently. See how this one—” He pointed. “—is looser than the others? Pull it straight down.”

The feather came out into Dean’s hand, and Cas groaned as if it was the most wonderful thing he’d felt since he’d fucked Dean in the gym, his eyes falling half-closed. The hunter heard a soft  _ Seriously?  _ from Sam, but when he turned to his brother with the feather in hand, Sam’s expression was carefully blank.

The spell took no more than ten minutes, but Cas didn’t put his wings back away, and Dean couldn’t stop staring. By the time Sam was done, the ingredients burning with a blue, almost-grace-like flame, Dean was standing behind the angel, stroking fingers through the messy feathers, sorting and straightening them.

“Dean, I would advise you to stop that.”

“Doesn’t it feel good, angel?” Dean murmured, his fingers buzzing from the electricity he could feel cracking across the wings, high on the Seraph’s scent. He gripped a handful of feathers the way Cas liked to grip his hair during sex, and a slick spot appeared at the base of each wing, near where they connected to his upper back.

“Dean—”

“Ok, guys, I’m all done here!” Sam clapped his hands, his voice overly loud and much too cheerful. “So no need to wait around with me, you can go off and watch a movie or whatever, I’ll let you know if I get a ping on Lucifer.”

Cas fled the room without answering Sam, but Dean noticed he didn’t put his wings away or disappear, and he followed him down the hall. Down to the gym. He tingled with excitement. Was Cas going to punish him for touching his wings after he’d clearly told Sam not to? He’d put Dean’s hand on his feathers first—but those were just details, and Dean didn’t really care as long as it got Castiel's attention on him.

Or would he let Dean keep stroking his feathers?

The angel turned to face Dean as the hunter shut the door, then moved to sit cross-legged on their mat, facing toward the wall. He had to lift his wings high and spread them to either side to keep them from smashing against the floor. When he didn’t speak, Dean moved to sit behind him, and trailed a finger through the oil steadily leaking down his back.

“What’s this?”

“Wing oil. It aids in grooming.”

“Oh. Like this?” Dean scooped some of the warm fluid on his palm, then slicked it down a patch of Castiel's feathers. When the angel hissed, he repeated it, working his fingers down each shaft, smoothing and coating them.

The angel groaned like he was sliding into Dean while still admiring the marks he’d left on the hunter’s ass. Flickers of grace-blue light sparked erratically across his wings.

“Why didn’t you want Sam to touch you?” Dean coughed to clear the huskiness Castiel's response stirred up, but it still felt like he’d been swallowing rocks whole all day, and some were still stuck in his throat.

“The same reason I don’t engage in intercourse with him. My wings are a part of me, not my vessel. To touch them is...intimate.”

“Are we intimate, Cas?” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the back of the angel’s neck, and wrapped his arms around to clasp his hands in front of Castiel's belly. He felt something hard and too heated, and startled. Cas was big, but he wasn’t that big. “Cas?”

The angel groaned as Dean prodded again with his hands. He peered over Castiel's shoulder, and tugged the waistband of his yoga pants out.

“Holy shit.”

Castiel's groin was glowing grace-blue like his eyes, and he was...erect. And ridged underneath...and really, very, quite large. Dean swallowed, his mouth watering. He’d never thought of himself as the bigger-is-better type, but damn.

“Is, uh, is that, um, is that part of you, too?”

“Yes,” the angel breathed.

“Shit, so that’s an angel thing or—“

“Yes. How do you think nephilim are made?”

“I thought, I mean, you know, what we did before. But with ladies.”

Cas huffed. “Seed from an angel’s vessel will not imbue the embryo with grace.”

“So, so Kelly...how did she not notice something was a bit...uh, off? With Lucifer?”

“Lucifer can change his appearance at will, even when he’s in a vessel. He’s an archangel. Dean.”

Dean’s tongue flicked out, and he couldn’t look away as a bead of liquid glimmered at the tip, then slicking its way down the head of Castiel’s cock and onto the shaft. “Mmmm.”

“Dean, do you intend to continue conversing while staring at my penis?”

“Shit, um. What, um, what do you—should I finish with the wings, or should I—“

Cas groaned again, and his yoga pants vanished, along with Dean’s clothes.

“Shit. Um, ok.”

The angel was on him before he could gather his thoughts, pressing him down into the yoga mat. Dean gripped the top bone of each wing in either hand, and Cas rutted against him wantonly. His cock left glimmering blue streaks on Dean’s stomach, and coated the hunter’s own engorged cock. The liquid tingled, hot and cold at the same time, flickers of grace apparent in the fluid.

Just the thought of Cas putting that inside him, splitting him open, seeding him impossibly full—

“Fuck, Cas, I’m never gonna make it.”

The angel hummed, and gripped the base of Dean’s cock. Grace pulsed and wrapped around the base, tightening around his balls, inflaming and caging his arousal.

“Cas—”

“Don’t worry, Dean, I’ll allow you to finish when I’m done with you.”

“Cas—”

“Where are we, Dean?”

_ Fuck, what?  _ He squinted at the angel, squirming against the thigh slotted between his own.

“Dean.”

“The gym, we’re in the gym, angel.”

“What rules do we have for the gym?”

“Rules?” He paused in his rut, then resumed, thrusting shallowly. Rules, rules, what rules? “Shit, Cas—”

The angel gripped hard at the meat of his ass, and realization sank in.

“Sir.” Dean was already so far gone he fell into it easily.

“Yes, Dean? What do you need?”

He looked up at the angel through his lashes, hoping Cas found it as appealing as he used to when his hookups did it to him. “Need you, sir. Please.”

“Hm. You have been so good for me, Dean. Behaving yourself, taking care of yourself, grooming my wings. I suppose—“ Cas reached behind his own back, brought a slick hand forward, and slipped two wet fingers down Dean’s crack. “I suppose a reward is in order.”

“Please.”

The fingers nudged against puckered skin, clenched reflexively tight from weeks of neglect. Cas massaged him, rubbing gently, pinching and releasing, ignoring Dean’s whimpers and thrusts. The tip of one finger slipped just inside his rim before pulling back, and Dean keened.

“Do you need something, Dean?”

“Please, sir, please, I want you inside me.”

“Are you certain, Dean?”

“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he gasped. “Sir.”

The angel chuckled, then thrust two fingers into Dean, fucking him fast and hard on them. Dean squealed and writhed at the burn, alternating between pushing himself back to take the fingers deeper, and thrusting up against Cas.

There was no relief for him in either direction.

Cas kissed him, swallowing his desperate moans as he added a third finger, scissoring and stretching Dean. He added more wing oil before the fourth finger.

Impossibly, after what felt like an hour, Cas had all five fingers stretching Dean’s rim. Grace was no doubt preventing him from tearing, keeping the edges of his hole soft and supple as the skin thinned, pink and tortured around the intrusions spreading him open.

“Sir, please, please fuck me, please.”

“Hm. Sit up.”

The angel stood, pulling his fingers free and cleaning them with a flicker of grace. His heavily ridged grace-blue cock hung heavy in front of Dean’s face, and he licked his lips.

“Are you sure this is something you want, Dean?”

“Want it, want you, sir, please.”

“It may hurt.”

“Don’t care. Sir.”

Cas huffed. “You don’t care one way or the other, hm?”

Dean flushed. “You know I, um.”

“Yes?”

“Ilikewhenithurts.”

“What was that?”

“I like when it hurts, sir.”

Dean didn’t think it was possible for him to be any redder than he was right now, but before he could wish for the floor to swallow him, Cas petted through his hair, distracting him.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Dean felt the endearment all the way in his soul, warming him as surely as if Castiel had sent a pulse of grace inside to heal the hurt spots.

When Cas pressing the tip of his cock against Dean’s lips, he licked and sucked the drops of fluid from the slit, tasting the metallic tang of electricity mingled with musk. Slowly, he stretched his jaw, trying to take the angel inside his mouth, but he could only manage the first few inches before the shaft was too large to fit between his teeth.

He bobbed and sucked, swirling his tongue whenever he had enough room, working the shaft with twisting hands, slicked with Castiel’s wing oil. He popped off to let his jaw rest, tracing the ridges and veins with his lips and tongue, laving and wetting and cataloguing each inch, before taking part of Castiel’s length back in his mouth.

His jaw was aching when Cas finally pulled back.

“So good for me.” Long fingers stroked through Dean’s hair, and traced a path down his cheek. “Such a beautiful mouth, and you use it so well.” He rubbed a thumb over Dean’s swollen lower lip. “I want to take you as I did before, Dean. May I?”

He tried to turn and get on all fours, presenting his ass for the angel, but Cas pressed him down onto the yoga mat, on his back. “Lay down for me.”

Cas looked down at Dean, his legs splayed on either side of Castiel's knees, his cock flushed purple against the angel’s grace-blue erection. With a hum, he gripped Dean’s arms, and flew them to Castiel's bedroom.

Dean barely registered the sick feeling in his stomach, like being on a plane in a storm, before he was sinking into Castiel's mattress.

“What, trying to romance me with pillows and soft sheets now?” he teased, desperate to get himself back under some semblance of control.

“I want to see your face when you take me inside you for the first time.”

“You’ve fucked me before, Cas.”

“Yes, but that was my vessel. This is me.”

Dean licked his lips, eyeing the cock resting against his own, dripping blue fluid on his stomach. “Yeah, um, I guess this is gonna be...different.”

“Are you sure, Dean?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m green, Cas. Just, uh…”

“Yes?”

“Go slow?”

“Of course. I want you to be comfortable.”

“Not too, uh, not too comfortable, I hope.” Dean flushed and laughed mockingly at himself, still embarrassed by his earlier admission. But Cas had called him sweetheart after, that was a good thing, right? Cas didn’t care he was twisted up inside.

“I dare say it will burn a bit, no matter how slowly I penetrate you.”

Dean’d been wrong. He could get redder. “That’s, um, that’s, that’s good.”

Wings flared, blocking the room’s overhead light, and Cas reached around, scooping oil into his palm and slicking himself. He stroked the wet tip up and down Dean’s crevice, pressing gently against his puckered rim with each stroke.

Dean couldn’t help but whimper, his own cock jerking and twitching at the sensation of the pointed tip of Castiel's erection teasing his hole. His shifted his legs wider, pulling his knees up and canting his hips to give the angel better access.

When Cas finally pressed into him, he writhed, his head thrashing back and forth against Castiel's pillow, the stretch and burn so intense he’d have come from the slide of each ridge against his prostate if Cas hadn’t already grace-bound him where he couldn’t orgasm.

He shifted against the hardness spearing him open, and Cas stopped moving. Dean rocked back and forth, restless, unsure if he wanted Cas to hold still or thrust into him, his mind overwhelmed with the assault on his senses, unintelligible sounds falling from his lips.

“Shhh, sweetheart. I have you.”

“Cas—“

“You can take it, Dean. So beautiful, stretched around me.”

The angel smoothed a thumb over his rim, the cold sensation a shock against the heat inside him. Grace pulsed gently, and he felt slicker, softer, and Cas slid in another few inches, popping another ridge past his abused rim. The brief release of pressure was exquisite, but the build started again as the base of the next ridge started to flare wider, stretching him again as Cas worked himself deeper.

“Cas—“ He was drowning, he couldn’t breathe, so full, too full, he couldn’t possibly take any more, no one could, it couldn’t be done—

“Just a little more, Dean. Are you ok?”

Dean released a stream of confused syllables and squeals, and Cas pulled back an inch.

“No!”

“Dean, are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, Cas, sir.”

“No need for that right now, Dean, just talk to me.”

“I’m fine, angel, just don’t leave me. Don’t pull out.”

“I’m right here.”

“I can, I can take it. It’s just, shit. Fuck, Cas, you been holding out on me.”

Dean lost track of time as Cas worked the last bit of his length slowly inside. Once he was fully seated, he didn’t withdraw to thrust, but held himself still, letting Dean soak up the feeling of being penetrated. After a moment, he leaned forward to worry at the hunter’s lips, biting and kissing them, tongues sliding while Dean squeezed and shifted and adjusted around his length.

When the burn gave way to desperate arousal, Cas stroked a finger down Dean’s cock, removing the grace holding his orgasm in check. Dean screamed and clenched down hard, his release painting both their chests.

A heartbeat later, Cas spilled inside him, wings flared, the hot flood sparking inside Dean like grace.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas was flustered the next day. There was no other word for it.

The angel woke him with a full spread—orange juice, crispy thick-cut bacon, cracked black pepper and sea salt in his eggs. Actual pancakes instead of toast. And a waffle.

If Cas kept getting better at cooking, he was gonna put Dean out of business.

“What’s the occasion?” Dean asked, his mouth too full of syrupy goodness to enunciate clearly.

“No occasion.”

“Seriously, what’s a guy gotta do to get this kinda treatment every day?”

Cas frowned and looked away. “I bring you breakfast often after we engage in...activities.”

Seriously, Cas was shy now? After demanding Dean beg for his cock the night before? “Yeah, but that wasn’t our usual ‘activities’.”

“No. No, it was not.”

“You ok?”

“Yes, Dean. I am fine. I just—it’s nothing of import.”

“Cas, come on.” Another scoop of eggs. So good. Had he found the truffle salt? “You’re acting like you lost your virginity.”

“TechnicallyIdid.”

“What?” The spoon paused midway to Dean’s mouth.

Cas cleared his throat, and became extremely interested in the contents of Dean’s closet. “Technically, I did.”

“But, April. And you can’t tell me, all those millenia before, you never did the deed.”

“With my vessel, I have, yes.”

Realization struck Dean, and he set the fork down. “So you never, with the whole blue angel-dick deal, you never, um...ever?”

“I never had occasion or the desire, no.”

“Huh.”

“Indeed.”

“So, you, uh, you made me a waffle AND pancakes, huh?”

“Was that not appropriate?”

“Nah, c’mere. Sit over here, with me.”

#

Dean wound up experiencing the _ whole blue angel-dick deal _ again immediately after breakfast, and again before dinner.

He’d just finished showering before bedtime when the angel cornered him in his room, bare but for a loosely tied towel, his skin still damp. “Shit, Cas, you’re insatiable.”

The angel nuzzled closer to Dean’s neck, wings wrapping around and brushing his bare shoulders in a hug. The feathers tickled, and he squirmed, feeling Cas thickening against his hip from the friction.

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Sam’s gonna find out if we keep this up. What happened to just bending me over in the gym?”

“When you act out, I’ll punish you in the gym. The rest of the time—“ Cas bit down on his shoulder and sucked a mark onto his collarbone. “—I’ll ruin you anywhere I please.”

_ Fuck, Cas. _

“That is the idea, yes.”

Dean laughed, throwing his head back. “How am I even walking after the last three times?”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Cas bit his lip and looked away.

“Seriously? What’d you do?”

“It is not—“

“If you say ‘it is not of import’ again, I swear—“

“I may have used a tinge of grace to keep your pain levels and soreness in check.”

“Yeah? When you say it like that, it sounds so sexy.”

Cas tilted his head, squinting at Dean. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Another laugh startled out of Dean, and he tugged the angel towards the bed. “Yeah, Cas. ‘m being sarcastic. Now c’mon. Let’s see what else that grace can do, angel.”

#

Music played somewhere distant in the bunker. Sam must still be awake—or had fallen asleep with the tv on again. Dean shifted, finding a more comfortable position that seemed less like being cradled on Castiel's lap, and more like just being held.

“Where’d you even buy this? Scratch that, how’d you even know this was a thing? They use sex toys in heaven?”

Cas didn’t answer him, not directly. “I thought you would be pleased.” Fingers ghosted into Dean’s hair, tugging and releasing in a rhythm that went straight to Dean’s dick. “You seem to want me inside you all the time now. I thought this would help satisfy that ache.”

Dean squirmed, the gravel dip in Castiel's voice and raised eyebrow reminding him of how he’d begged the last few times for Cas to stay inside a little longer.

But the begging had only delayed the inevitable, and he was empty and loose now—empty, so empty once Cas had pulled out, the absence accentuated by the slow glide of Castiel's grace-filled seed currently slipping from his abused hole and onto Castiel's thighs.

Finding out the angel could knot him had been a revelation; Cas could stay inside him until they were ready to go again. But after a while, the angel insisted his lover rest, eat, shower, socialize with Sam, and then he was empty, longing for Cas.

“You’re beautiful when you flush. So pink. It makes your freckles stand out.”

Dean knew his skin darkened further with the praise, and Cas chuckled, sliding the cold glass plug they’d been discussing back and forth against his fevered chest.

“You’ve been keeping me mostly full for a week, only makes sense I’d get used to it. Can’t blame a guy for...acclimating.”

Cas laughed this time, full and deep in a way it never used to be. “So you do want this inside you? Keeping you...full?” His voice dropped to a purr.

Dean squirmed to face away, but didn’t move from Castiel's lap. Fuck, those words, coming from that mouth. And shit, the idea of Cas buying going somewhere to buy Dean a plug—or having it custom-made, Dean considered, eying the girth. The idea was as arousing as it was dirty.

“Tell me, pet.”

“Yeah, ok, I might um...we can try it.”

“Hm. That sounds as if you’re humoring me, versus it being something you truly desire. We don’t have to do this, and we don’t have to speak of it again.”

The angel moved to put the toy away, and Dean grabbed his wrist. Fuck, that wasn’t what he intended at all. The idea of Cas putting a toy in him, trapping his seed inside Dean, fuck, it had to be wrong to want something that bad, but Dean didn’t care.

“No, I mean, yeah, um, yes sir.” It was easier to ask for things in their roles. Or in prayers. “Please, I’d like to try it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then put it in yourself.”

Dean whimpered, and took the plug from Cas. A few weeks ago, he would’ve been shocked at the girth, but now it seemed barely thicker than the cock on Castiel's vessel. It still took him a minute, his rim too sore to tolerate quick insertion.

“Good boy.”

Cas tapped the base, checking that it was firmly seated, jostling it against Dean’s prostate. The hunter whimpered and squirmed, still oversensitive.

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect you to wear it unless I’ve given you permission to take it out, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now up, let’s get you ready for bed, sweetheart.”

He’d never get tired of Cas calling him that, or used to it either, it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter (with Gabriel) has been written, along with one short timestamp.
> 
> The question is: how much smut and fluff should everyone have to endure first?


	6. Chapter 6

A girl sat down next to Dean at the bar, her arm brushing against his. He glanced up into hazel eyes and bottle-red hair, styled too carefully in waves long enough to reach her waist. There was a time he would’ve liked to wrap his hands in it, but now he preferred having his hands tied behind him by Cas.

“You here by yourself?” She smiled at him through her lashes.

“I am tonight.” The flirting still came too easily. It was hard to turn it off, even when he wasn’t looking for anything he couldn’t find in a glass. “What’re you having?”

She fixed him with a look that said  _ you, later _ . “Johnny on the rocks.”

“Whiskey girl, eh? I can get behind that.”

Gravel rumbled behind him, hot and close to his ear. “Hopefully not the same way I get behind you.”

_ Shit. _ He whirled around, almost falling off his stool. “Hey, heya, Cas. Wasn’t expecting you here tonight.” He glanced over, but the girl was gone.

“Sam told me where you were. I didn’t realize you still felt the need to seek companionship in places like...this.”

“No, no, no. Just having a beer, Cas. I like the lights sometimes. The noise.”

“You were flirting.” The angel’s voice was stern, full of disapproval at Dean’s choice of after dinner activities.

Dean felt his stomach drop before noticing the teasing glint in Castiel's eyes.  _ Ah, so it was gonna be like that, was it? Two could play that game. _

“Habits, man.” He dropped his voice. “Shit, I’m wearing the plug you slid in me this morning and I’m still full of...you. What kind of trouble could I have gotten up to with her?”

“Are you, now?” Castiel's eyes dilated, and he flicked a tongue out. “I thought perhaps you had disobeyed and removed it on your own.”

“Nah, Cas.”

Cas gripped his arm, tight enough to bruise, staring into his eyes. Dean stared back, the moment stretching, expanding, sucking him into it and demanding he lose himself to it.

“So you didn’t consider removing my gift so you could ‘get into trouble’ with someone else?”

His hand squeezed impossibly tighter, Cas jerking him forward, manhandling him ever so slightly.

“N-no, sir,” Dean whispered, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Of course, of course not, sir.”

“Hm. I’m not convinced. You seem to be forgetting your place, pet.”

Heat coiled low in Dean’s stomach, and he gave Cas a smirk before leaning over to whisper in the angel’s ear. “Would that place be in front of you, bent over; underneath you, being fucked into the mattress; or on top of you, riding that cock of yours?”

Castiel's eyes darkened and he raised a brow. “Cheeky. Perhaps the floor of the gym would be more appropriate than any of those three.”

Blood started plumping him inside his jeans, and Dean bit the side of his cheek.  _ Down, boy. _

Castiel looked him over, eying him again in that intent way of his, before stepping back and motioning for Dean to stand. “But given our current location, I will settle for the largest stall in the facilities in the back of the bar. I’ll join you in five minutes, I suggest you prepare yourself.”

Dean flushed. The bathroom? They’d gotten up to all sorts of nonsense all over the bunker, and even on Baby’s hood in the garage, but Cas had yet to debauch him in a semi-public location.

“As they say, the clock is ticking, Dean. That wasn’t a request.”

He a) trusted the angel and b) was on board with whatever was about to happen, so he hurried to the men’s room and locked himself in the handicap stall. Catching his own mistake, he unflicked the lock, leaving the door ajar for Cas to follow.

“Prepare myself,” he muttered. “Prepare myself how?”

Was Cas going to punish him? Fuck him? Dean wasn’t sure; Cas almost always gave him what he was craving, sweet or rough, even if he didn’t know what he wanted at first. Whatever he was going to do would likely require the absence of his pants, so Dean tugged them down until they caught on his thighs, spread his legs, and leaned over to grip the handicap rail. The air was a cold contrast to his flushed cock, and he could feel himself stiffening further as he waited.

The door swung open with a rush of sound from the bar, before closing on the noise. Dean expected the stall door to pop open immediately; when it remained closed, he strained to hear movement in the bathroom.

What if a stranger walked into his stall and saw him bent over like this, with a massive plug peeking out between his cheeks? Would they apologize and leave, or would they—

The stall door opened, and he almost fell onto the toilet. Ozone crackled in the air, and he breathed out in relief. It was just Cas.

The air sparked again, and Dean revised his thought. Nothing was ever ‘just’ Cas.

“Hm, there’s my good boy.” Cas stroked down his side and kneaded the meat of his ass with one hand, before pulling his cheek to the side to watch his rim shift and tug against the plug splitting him open. He leaned over Dean, close but no longer touching, his breath pricking goosebumps into the hunter’s flesh. “You just need to be reminded who you belong to, don’t you? I suppose I’ve been neglecting that greedy little hole of yours, fucking you in the morning then leaving you to your own devices the rest of the day. It isn’t enough for you, is it?”

Dean whimpered and shifted back, seeking the heat he could feel radiating off the angel. The angel popped him, hard enough to leave a brief handprint on the side of his ass.

“Ah ah. You’ll take what I give you, little one.”

The moan that Dean let slip as Cas pressed the base of the plug into him was filthy, and he was grateful no one else was in the bathroom. “Please, Cas.”  _ Shit _ . “Sir, please, sir.”

Cas pulled the plug out with a twist, and a sharp twinge of pain shot up Dean’s spine.

“Please, sir.”

Two fingers probed him, sinking immediately in to the second knuckle, and Dean whined for more.

“So eager for me. Turn around, on your knees.”

Dean whimpered again at being left empty. He could feel some of Castiel's come starting to slip out of his loosened hole, and he shifted against the wetness.

“That better not be you letting my seed out, Dean.” Cas gripped his hair hard enough to bring tears to the corners of Dean’s eyes. He pulled Dean over to inspect his crevice, tsking as he scooped the still-blue fluid up with his fingers and pressed it back into his hole.

“Do you need help being good?”

Thinking Cas meant he could have the plug back, Dean nodded, wanting to be full again. He squealed when Cas popped two fingers hard against his hole instead, tightening his pucker back up. Then again. And again.

Just when he was canting his hips for more, Cas yanked hard on his hair, bringing him upright. Before his eyes could blink clear of his tears, Cas had his vessel’s cock out and pressing against Dean’s lips. He opened for him, planning to bob down and take Cas as deep as he could, but the angel thrust into him first. Dean had to split his focus between keeping his hole puckered closed, and his jaw relaxed, hyper aware of each sensation Cas wrung from his body.

Cas shifted his hand in Dean’s hair, cupping the back of his neck instead, angling Dean better so he could thrust into Dean’s throat. Cas didn’t do this often, preferring to use his own cock to ravage Dean, and the hunter wasn’t as experienced at letting him in as he should be by this point. He gagged several times, each time Cas barely pausing to let him suck a deep breathe down before resuming his punishing pace.

By the time Cas pulled out and lifted Dean to his earlier position on the rail, he knew he’d be hoarse tomorrow. 

The angel bit down on his collarbone, sucking a dark mark there, then another on the side of his neck. His fingers dug possessively into the sides of his hips, hard enough to bruise, as a pulse of grace sank through Dean, tightening his hole.

Before he was ready, Cas pushed into him and set a punishing pace. The re-freshed burn was painful, but once Cas found his prostate and began to hit it on each thrust, pleasure sparked and twisted up his limbs.

It was rough, dirty, and exactly what Dean needed. His balls began to draw up, tension coiling tighter and tighter, and he squeezed his muscles around Cas, trying to pull him deeper, canting his hips to meet each slide in.

The angel growled, then hissed low against his ear. “Your pleasure is mine, pet. I might let you finish if I decide you’ve earned it later, but for now I expect you to be still and take what I give you.”

Dean was so close, too close. He gasped and sobbed at the effort it took to yank himself back from the edge, biting his cheek to counteract the assault Cas was continuing on his prostate. The jolts of pleasure, the burn and stretch of his grace-tightened rim against Cas moving inside him, the feeling of fullness, the balls slapping between his legs, the humiliation of being used in a public restroom, pants barely pulled down... _ shit shit shit. _

Mercifully, Castiel's hips stuttered before Dean lost himself in it; he pounded forward once, twice, three times, wet heat coating Dean’s insides. Cas popped the plug back into place, and patted Dean on the rear.

“Clean yourself up, pay your bill, and then I expect you back at the motel immediately after.” A finger trailed down Dean’s crevice, tapping the plug. “And Dean? Pay for a second room.”

He opened his mouth to agree, but only a squeak came out, his voice wrecked. He’d have to tell Sam he did karaoke.

He glanced in the mirror as he washed up after the angel left, eyeing the dark marks Cas had left on his neck and collarbone. 

He’d have to tell Sam he did karaoke and danced with some frisky women.

#

Back in the room, Cas took mercy on Dean, and let him come on his cock with Castiel's wings around him, his hand buried in the hunter’s chest, seeking his soul. They curled up to sleep together, but when Dean woke, he was alone, with only the plug holding the fullness inside him to remind him of the angel’s presence.

It wasn’t enough.

#

He could barely focus on the hunt, and Sam noticed he was off his game, accusing him of being hungover. When he didn’t argue, letting Sam believe what he wanted, his younger brother squinted at him, but thankfully dropped the subject and did most of the work.

The need for Cas was itching inside him, chanting  _ more, more more. _ He’d had to take the plug out to relieve himself, and he was painfully aware of how empty he felt, especially once the toy was gone. 

He waited up for Cas that night, but the angel didn’t come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m planning to write one or two more short smutty chapters, then post the final two chapters (already written) and a time stamp (also done). Any other smutty bits I’ll post as time stamps.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter should be posted pretty quickly, later today or tomorrow if everything works out. 
> 
> I decided to rearrange chapters 7 and 8, so now instead of two smut scenes and two “plot” scenes, there’s two smut+plot chapters. (If you can call any of this plot, really. Window-dressing? Smut-dressing? Anyway.)
> 
> I’ve started work on another chaptered work to post after this one. If you like witch!Cas and my short fic Pierced, there’s a good chance you’ll want to stay tuned for this one.

He woke on a sob his first night back in the bunker, arching his hips off the bed, seeking friction against the blanket. The dream had been vivid; Cas was sunk inside him to the hilt, sitting at the kitchen table, calmly reading the paper, demanding that Dean stay still, impaled on his cock. He’d been so full, he’d desperately needed to move, to clench down, to squeeze, anything.

“Cas, please, I need you.”

One swift movement, and Dean’s sheets and boxers landed on the floor, exposing his sweat-slicked skin to the cool air of his room. A quick lick to his fingers and he pressed them against his own hole, teasing the puckered flesh.

“Cas, please.” A flurry of images mingled with his prayer, the too recent dream tangling up with his need.

He’d worked one finger in to the first knuckle when he heard the soft rustle of Castiel's wings as the angel joined him. The angel shushed him, guiding him onto his hands and knees, feet hanging off the bed on either side of Castiel's thighs.

Castiel soothed a hand down his side, raising shivers as he palmed Dean’s rump, pulling one cheek to the side to expose his still puffy hole as he murmured praise. Two fingers slide down his exposed cleft, smearing him with wing oil before pressing in where Dean needed them.

He pushed back, his rim clenching around the intrusion, trying to adjust and take more in all at once. “Cas—“

“So good for me, Dean.” The angel hummed, working Dean quickly to three fingers before pulling out, leaving him agonizingly empty. “I didn’t realize you would need me so soon. I thought you’d need longer to recover.”

“Always need you, Cas.” Dean arched his back and wiggled his hips, hoping to entice Cas to hurry things along.

“I see that.” Castiel's voice was tinged with amusement, but he pressed the tip of his swollen, slicked cock to Dean’s hole regardless. “This may hurt a bit, sweetheart.”

“Don’t care. ‘M ready. Just hurry up and fuck me.”

The angel growled and pushed in, the sharp flare of the head stretching Dean too fast, forcing steadily past the bit of resistance his hole always tried to put up no matter how often it was fucked into submission. He keened and shifted, trying to relax as each ridge stretched and teased him, until finally Cas was seated, his balls settling against Dean’s.

Cas gave him a minute to adjust, then—

Another minute to adjust, and—

Another minute?

“Cas?” His voice was hoarse and broken. Dean shifted his hips experimentally. Maybe Cas wanted him to fuck himself.

The angel gripped his hips firmly, pulling his rear flush against Castiel's hips and holding him there. Another minute passed, and Dean’s body was burning, screaming for the angel to move.

“Cas? Move, please, please move, please—“

“So beautiful when you beg.” The angel squeezed his hands tighter for a moment, but kept Dean in place, impaled too full as he’d been in his dream. Cas murmured to him in Enochian, almost a prayer, worshiping Dean as he clenched and shivered around the angel’s shaft.

Dean keened, words falling unintelligible from his lips. He tried to hold still, to be good for Cas, but his body was singeing, burning, falling. He was lost. His hips bucked and twitched and  _ writhed _ in Castiel's grasp, his hole clenching in a desperate rhythm against the intrusion splitting him open. In the absence of movement, he was hyper aware of each sensation, the drips of grace from Castiel's cock slipping against his walls, each drop of precome sending flares of heat through him deep inside.

“Cas! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh Cas, Cas please, oh God—”

The angel kept him in place with one hand, tracing the thin skin of Dean’s rim with the other, palpating the sensitive flesh, drawing Dean’s focus back to the burn. He spread his fingers wide, catching Dean’s skin against the underside of his cock while his thumb trapped more against the top, pinching Dean’s hole around him.

Dean lost the ability to speak at all, his mind awash in static.

_ Cas Cas Cas Cas SHIT Cas Cas— _

Just when it was almost too much, Cas pulled out, one slow inch at a time, long fingers still teasing and squeezing Dean’s rim.

The delicious slide filled Dean with pleasure, then panic as Cas continued to slide out, further and further out, until his last ridge popped free and Dean’s hole released Cas entirely, clenching on air and empty and begging.

Before he could get his uncooperative tongue to form a protest, Cas had three fingers back inside him, plunging deep, finding his prostate and rubbing. Dean thrashed and writhed, seeking more, but Cas kept a hand hard on his hip, holding him steady with angelic strength as he tormented Dean.

The hunter was about to tap out, overcome, but the fingers were gone as quickly as they’d slid inside. Cas drove home in one long thrust, punching Dean’s sensitized prostate on the way, knot swelling immediately. The pleasure crested, forcing long ribbons of come and a scream from Dean, twisting his upper body as he threw his hands wide to twist them in the fitted sheet.

#

When he woke the next morning, he was plugged and angel-less again. His body ached, but not as much as he was used to feeling after a round of angelic penetration. Cas must’ve healed him.

_ I wish he hadn’t. _

Grumpy, Dean dressed and headed to the kitchen. Sam glared at him over a cup of coffee before returning to the paper, and Dean had the decency to flush.

_ Shit, must’ve been louder than I realized last night.  _ He’d forgotten to ask Cas to put up sound proofing, and the angel clearly had been a bit too inspired by his dream-prayer combo to remember himself.  _ Maybe we should look into permanent sigils. _

_ Nah, too dangerous. Couldn’t hear someone calling for help if things go bad. _

A flash of not-Cas shifting into Asmodeus flared in his memory, making him shift uncomfortably and gulp a too big swig of stale coffee. He scrunched his face, eyeing the liquid as if it had personally offended him.

“How long’s this been sitting on the warmer?”

“Long enough. You slept in pretty late. Busy night?”

Several teasing retorts jumbled on his tongue, but he was distracted by the plug trapping Castiel’s grace-laden seed inside him, and the absence of the angel who put it there. “Yeah.”

Sam put the paper down, eyeing him. “You alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Peachy.”

His brother gave him a disbelieving look, but let it go. “You up for a hunt?”

#

“Dean. Dean!”

Sam’s voice was muffled, likely by all the blood running into Dean’s ears from that damn gash across his scalp. He blinked hard, trying to jostle the blur from his eyes.

“Sammy?”

“Shit, man.”

Dean felt the half-rotted floorboard sink under his brother’s weight as Sam knelt beside him, tilting him to the left and—yeah, those ribs were broken for sure.

“You—“ Dean coughed, spitting blood through his teeth. “You get the rest of ‘em?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. Shit, you don’t look good, Dean. Better call Cas.”

Dean pressed a hand to his side. Maybe he’d been wrong; his ribs didn’t feel quite so bad now. Bruised maybe. Sore. Kinda like how his ass usually felt when Cas was done using him in the gym. “He’s busy. Let’s get outside, have a look first.”

“You sure you can walk?” His brother scowled and tried to probe at Dean’s head.

Dean waved him off. “Take more than a few vamps to take down a Winchester, Sammy. Help me up.”

“You had three on you at once, Dean, and they were starving.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok, mom. Let’s go.”

Moving did the trick, and by the time they got outside, even the stiffness had faded. Sam insisted on keeping Dean’s arm over his shoulders, but when they got to the Impala, Dean shook him off.

“Dude, I’m fine. I can walk.”

“Dean, you’re covered in blood. Sit down.” Sam grabbed the first aid kit from the trunk, dropping off their weapons at the same time.

“Seriously, I’m fine. Blood might not even be mine.”

“I saw them tear into you. I saw—” Sam paused, fingers in Dean’s hair. “I saw...shit, Dean, you’re right, this must not be your...wait.”

He probed harder, parting Dean’s hair. “Did you have a cut here before? One that Cas didn’t heal all the way?”

“What? No.”

“‘Cause it looks like you got cut alright, but like, weeks ago. Let me see your ribs, I saw you favoring them.”

“They’re fine, Sammy, just bruised.”

His brother tugged his shirt up, ignoring his protests, testing the give with his fingers. “Huh. You’re right, not even a bad bruise, at that. Might even be gone in a week.”

#

Sam was wrong. The bruise was gone by the time they got home. Dean bit his lip, staring into the mirror and poking at his chest. The wound on his head was completely healed and gone by the time he was done in the shower, as well.

He thought about asking Cas to look into it, but surely if it was something bad, it wouldn’t be healing him, right?

Plus, if he brought it up, Cas would go off and do research tonight instead of fucking Dean into the mattress. And man, could he go for Cas fucking him into the mattress right now. He couldn’t wear his plug on a hunt, and Cas had been too busy to answer his prayer before they left, and now he ached for it in a way he never had before.

He should ask Sam if angel grace was addictive. But then, he’d want to know why Dean was asking. Then he’d talk to Cas, whether Dean wanted him to or not. Then Cas would go off and do research. And, yeah. He didn’t want that.

It could wait.

How bad could it be?


	8. Chapter 8

Healing quickly was mostly a good thing, Dean found. It was great on hunts, even if he did have to be careful to keep Sam from noticing. It freed him up to fight harder, jump in faster, and take more risks, which kept his brother safer.

Dean could push himself harder around the bunker without risking being stiff and achy the next day, and he showed Sam up one morning when Cas wasn’t there for yoga. Outran the cocky little hippie and barely felt the burn. 

It helped after Cas worked him over in the gym, too. He no longer had issues sitting in the morning, and could wear jeans if he needed to go to town. Dean ordered some arnica cream just in case the angel said something about it, though he wasn’t sure Cas would buy the excuse. Only, Cas hadn’t seemed to notice at all, which left a sick feeling in Dean’s stomach that he forced down.

It wasn’t like Dean wanted Cas to watch the careful way he had to move around, after a session. It wasn’t like he used to preen and exaggerate his winces in front of Cas, hoping to see his eyes darken. It wasn’t like he needed Cas to admire his handiwork. 

But then, there were...side effects. They weren’t bad, exactly, but they changed things. He could take Castiel's cock faster and with less burn now, but he missed the feeling of being split open, the pain mixing with pleasure, overwhelming him and whiting out everything but the sensation of Castiel's ridges abusing his over-stretched rim.

He had to push Cas to hit him harder, fuck him harder, otherwise he could barely feel it an hour later. It was nice to be healed the next day, but sometimes he liked to stretch out the abused and used feeling for at least the rest of the evening, especially when Cas was traveling. It made the angel feel closer, having his marks all over Dean’s body, but they faded too quickly now.

He should probably talk to Cas about it.

Definitely. He should definitely talk to Cas about it. And he would.

But Cas would ask questions like how long this had been going on, and why he hadn’t mentioned it right away, and Dean would be in for the not fun kind of punishment, because when Cas was really angry and upset, they didn’t go to the gym. No, they talked, and Cas frowned at him, and was disappointed in him. And he rarely got sex afterwards.

Dean was still going to tell Cas. Eventually. He just needed to find the right time.

Maybe he’d cook dinner for the angel the next time they came back, feed him some good molecules. Take him to a liquor store after hours; they could drink it together.

Or maybe just cuddle a bit, rub his wings, butter him up. Next time. Tomorrow, when the angel came back.

He’d be back tomorrow, right?

#

There was nothing but radio silence from Cas for three days.

Three. Freaking. Days.

Three stupid freaking days without Cas, and Dean was burning up. He tried to eat, but nothing tasted right. He tried to drink, but threw up anything that wasn’t water—and sometimes the water, too. He tried to shower—hot, cold, nothing gave him relief. He couldn’t sleep—not in his bed, not in Castiel's.

He tried not to pray, not wanting to beg, but it  _ hurt _ . He’d seen a cat in heat once, mewling and rolling and rubbing itself against the brick walls in an alley, desperate for any kind of friction, any kind of release, and he’d never felt more sympathy for a creature than he did right now.

_ Fuck, is this how sex addicts feel all the time? Am I fucking addicted to Cas? _

Dean wandered down to the gym, nearly delirious, thinking maybe yoga would help calm him down, but their shared mat had other, stronger associations for him. The fever wracked through him the moment his knees hit the padded floor, driving his forehead down to the floor.

“Cas—“ He couldn’t decide what to say, and instead sent all his emotions into the prayer link he’d opened to the angel, his longing, his need. “Sir—“

A whuff of air and a rustle was all the warning he had before the angel was on him, bending over him to hug him close.

“Oh, pet. Are you too empty? Do you need something inside you?”

Dean nodding, a tear leaking from one eye. “It aches.”  _ Hurts. This can’t be normal, can it? _

_ But then, what do I know about angel sex? _ Dean pushed his confusion away. He could think about it later, when he didn’t have Cas swelling against the back of his leg, wings already out and wrapped around him. He keened, pressing back into the angel’s heat.

“Please, Cas, please.”

The angel shushed him. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. You don’t need to beg tonight.”

Cas started off slow, stroking down Dean’s body, leaving electric sparks and goosebumps in the wake of his too-hot palms. Dean writhed, arching and pressing closer, closer, squeezing and tugging first at his biceps, then his shoulders, then the bridges of his wings.

As his hands pulled hard at the feathered bones, Castiel’s eyes flashed grace-blue, and the Seraph hissed, his own hands gripping Dean hard enough to bruise. Dean’s could smell the musky scent he associated with Castiel’s wing oil, and groaned at the thought of the angel slicking himself from Dean’s touch.

“Cas, angel, please—”

He yanked hard on the Seraph’s wings; they snapped wide, flaring beneath his hands as Cas flicked soft kisses across his nose, his cheeks, the corners of his lips, tonguing and biting, working his way to the tender spot beneath Dean’s ear, then biting at the tendon trailing down the side of his neck.

“Cas!”

Dean turned his face, desperate to catch the angel’s lips with his own, to taste him, but Cas moved away, flipping Dean, popping him on the side of his hips until he lifted and presented his hole for the angel to use.

He expected the press of fingers, squealing when he felt a softer, wetter slide against his hole instead. _ Cas is...Cas is licking me, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit oh Cas oh shit, shit, CAS—  _

Castiel’s tongue pressed inside, spearing him open, then he pulled back, sucking hard at Dean’s rim, drawing whines from the hunter as he pushed his hips back, seeking more. The angel laved over his puckered hole, then penetrated him again, one long finger beside his tongue, licking inside and around and inside again, then another finger, both crooking against that sweet spot until Dean screamed his lover’s name, begging for him, begging for his cock.

The Seraph flipped him, and Dean grabbed at both wings again, his fists closing around handfuls of long feathers as Cas slid inside, grace easing the burn. The angel fucked him hard and fast, Dean’s rim dragging on Castiel’s ridges as the Seraph pulled back, again and again, abusing his hole as Dean held on, dragging his fingers desperately through the blue-black wings, pulling down feathers free even as he mussed the long primaries, grace sparking against his fingertips.

Castiel’s knot started to swell, but he didn’t lock it inside Dean, instead yanking it back and forth, inside and out, the too-large bulge forcing Dean’s body to spasm and twitch around it as the growing knot stretched him wide. When it finally popped, Cas froze, letting it rest halfway in, Dean’s tender muscles caught on it, giving way to the impossible stretch as Cas split him open. He wailed, knowing he would’ve torn if not for his improved healing and Castiel’s grace, enjoying the white-out burn he’d missed so much, until the angel finally slid inside, locking them together.

When his knot had gone down enough to slip free, Cas flew them both to Dean’s room. He cleaned Dean up, plugged him, and cut on the tv. Before Dean could ask him to stay, he was gone.

Just when Dean started to spiral down into the emptiness of the room and the void inside himself, the angel was back with juice, a muffin, a length of rope, and a long black rod. He helped Dean eat, then pulled him up.

“Stand over there. I need to move your bed.”

“Um, why?”

“I thought you’d like to watch tv while you wait.”

“While I wait for what?”

Cas raised a brow, staring him down until his knees quivered. “For me to come back and fuck you again.”

_ Shit, yes. But— _ “You’re leaving?”

Cas moved his bed lengthways in the room, then bent Dean over the bed and kicked his legs apart to cuff his ankles to the bar.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t stay, but this will remind you of my touch until I return, I hope.”

Cold air moved across Dean, and he could feel the angel’s gaze on him. He flushed, picturing how wanton he must look, his legs splayed and his hole kept open around the plug’s shaft. 

“What—” Dean cleared his throat. “What will?”

Castiel shushed him, leaning over his back, pressing his heat against Dean, whispering. “So beautiful for me, Dean. All of you is perfect.” He bit at the soft spot underneath Dean’s ear, then pressed his lips against it. “All of you is mine.”

Dean shivered, canting his hips, exhausted but still vaguely eager for the angel again. Cas pulled back, his hands smoothing over Dean’s hands, then fastening his wrists together behind his back, his elbows bent, the long slide of ropes dragging against his skin as Cas coiled them loosely. A finger slid between each coil of rope, and Cas continued wrapping them up his arms and around his chest.

“I would bind you tighter, but I can’t stay in the room with you this time, Dean. I need you to promise to pray to me if they become too tight, and I’ll come back immediately, no matter what I’m doing, do you understand?”

“Mmm…” Dean felt himself slipping into his quiet space, the space where he didn’t need to be Sam’s brother, or the Righteous Man, or anyone’s savior, the hard fuck he’d just undergone taking the place of the belt, and the restraint settling his mind better than meditation.

“Dean, do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” he slurred, sleepy and quiet.

“Dean—”

“I’m fine, Cas, I’ll let you know if I’m not.”

He felt fingers on him as Cas started to undo the ropes, and panic bubbled up. “Cas, don’t, please. I’m ok.”

“Dean—”

“Cas, I swear, I’ll call you if I freak out or go numb, just leave them, please?” He tilted his head, barely able to see the angel’s scowl out of the corner of his eye. “Leave them, or stay.”

Cas squinted at him, but stopped undoing the ropes. He moved the television off its stand and onto the floor, then lifted Dean by one arm, propping him on pillows where he could watch it without straining his neck.

“Check in with me during each commercial break. Pray and let me know you’re ok.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” he mumbled, his brain already relaxing again, the ropes reassuring him that Castiel wouldn’t be gone long. He wouldn’t stay away, not with Dean tied like this. Wouldn’t leave him bound, not for good.  _ He’ll be back. _

Cas pressed the remote to Dean’s hands, kissed him, and flew away.

_ He’ll be back. He’ll be back. He’ll be back. _

#

Dean made it through an episode and a half, then Cas was on him, whispering praise as the plug tugged free, his hole still sore and puffy—but not nearly as much so as it should have been, considering how rough Cas had been with him.

He felt Cas inspecting it, prodding and stretching the tender skin before taking him, splayed out on the bed. He entered slow, then set a rough pace, fucking Dean down into the mattress while he mewled and canted his hips.

It barely scratched the itch that had built over the last days. He begged Cas to stay after, but the angel plugged him and was gone after one last kiss, tender and searing.

“Stupid angel and his stupid angel-missions,” Dean grumbled at the tv, searching for a different channel with the remote Cas had returned to his hands. “Oughta be strong enough to open the rift himself by now, all this soul-touching he’s been doing.”

#

Cas seeded him every hour or so for the rest of the day, and at last, the ache started to fade from his bones, leaving him exhausted. Dean felt a moment of surprise when he saw the ropes and cuffs had left no mark on his body, even after wearing them all day, and testing their hold regularly to reassure himself.

They were really going to have to talk about this.

About the fact that he could even walk beside Cas to the showers after how hard Cas had used him. How hard he’d begged Cas to use him.

About the fact that even now, if Cas wanted to flip him around, throw him against the wall, and push into him, he’d welcome it, even if that desperate edge was gone.

About how he craved Castiel's release, as long as it was inside him or on him.

His belly felt strange, distended despite only having eaten the small nutritious snacks Cas had brought him periodically throughout the day. When Cas pulled the plug free under the hot spray from the showerhead, Dean realized why—as the gush of Castiel's seed flooded down his legs, his belly softened, until only a few dribbles escaped around Castiel's fingers as he cleaned the inside of Dean’s hole, no doubt checking for tears to heal, tears that wouldn’t be there.

He flushed, looking at the wall. Cas had fucked him and kept him plugged to the point he was swollen with it.

Why did that feel so good?


	9. Chapter 9

Sam grabbed Dean by the arm after the next hunt, spinning him and pushing him into the wall.

“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first, Sammy?”

“Shut it, Dean. This is serious. You think I haven’t noticed?”

“Noticed what? My shocking good looks? ‘Cause I gotta tell you—“

“No. This, whatever this is.”

“You just gestured at all of me, Hiccup.”

Sam scowled. “When’s the last time you got hurt on a hunt, Dean? I mean, really hurt, longer than a few minutes?”

“Maybe I’m just that good.”

“And what was that? I’ve never seen you fight like that. You’re fast, and you’re reckless, and—“

Dean felt a flicker of annoyance. Fuck Sam and his questions. Fuck him for noticing, when Cas hadn’t. “I’ve been working out, been spending a lot of time in the gym, haven’t you noticed?” He smirked at his own joke, knowing that Sam had no idea what they were actually doing in the gym.

“Lifting weights and doing some yoga doesn’t enable you to do _that_ , Dean. Seriously, you were fighting like...like Cas. Like you know you can’t get hurt.”

Too on the nose. Dean turned his face away and tried to get in the car, but Sam grabbed his arm. For once, his little brother couldn’t leverage his larger size to force-spin him around, and Dean shrugged him off.

“Dean, we need to talk about this!”

“No, we don’t, Sam.” He poured as much disdain for touchy-feely conversations in his voice as he could. Just because he was bending over and letting Cas take control of things on the regular, didn’t mean he wanted to co-star in a chick flick with his brother. “It’s fine, I’ve got it under control.”

“I’m telling Cas.”

The annoyance flashed into anger, then dread, and something close to fear. _Shit._ “Don’t you dare.”

“Ha! I was wondering if he was in on it, but he isn’t, is he?”

His voice rose, pitched too high. “There’s nothing to be ‘in on’, Sammy.”

“Did you just air quote me like Cas, too? Dude, is there an angel or something in you? Are you fucking possessed?”

“Haven’t noticed me being a junkless dick lately or glowing blue, have you?

Sam let him go, muttering that he was already a dick, all the time, but Dean knew it wasn’t over. He really did need to talk to Cas.

_Fuck._

#

After the next hunt, the cat was out of the bag. Sam freaked, claiming his eyes flared with grace when he was beheading a few monsters, and started praying to Cas to get his ass down here, ratting Dean out as loudly as he could. Before Dean even had the blood off his blade, Cas was behind him, spinning Dean to pin him against the wall.

#

“Dude, you’ve already put me through every test you can think of, and Cas says there’s nothing possessing me. I’m fine. Better than fine.”

“It’s the ‘better than’ part I’m worried about, Dean. We’re Winchesters. We don’t get a free pass like that. There’s always a down side!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t suck down any demon blood, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Sam glared. “Don’t be a dick.”

“Sam, perhaps you should consult the archives. I have a meeting already scheduled with Gabriel tomorrow, and I will ask his opinion then. In the meantime—“

“Wait wait wait. Gabriel’s dead, Cas. Like, capital D, Dead. You feeling ok?” Dean reached up as if to brush a hand across Castiel's forehead, before remembering Sam’s eyes on them. He snatched his hand back as if the angel’s skin had burned him.

Cas squinted at Dean. “He’s not dead. We meet for coffee once a month. Well, we sit at a coffee shop and he eats—“

“Since when isn’t he dead?” “When were you going to tell us this?” Sam and Dean spoke over one another, then stopped and glared at each other.

“It was irrelevant until now.”

_That damn eyebrow. Acting like we’re all—fuck! Seriously, what the fuck?_

“Gabe faked his death—again—and it isn’t—” Dean started, words jumbling as he tried to figure out something to say other than _you fucking winged dick of an angel and your damn secrets._ _Not this again._ “You’re just supposed to share things you know with the class as they come up, Cas. You don’t wait until it’s _relevant_. And it is! It is relevant! Very, very relevant!”

_I shouldn’t have to explain this to him! I shouldn’t have to—fuck!_

Cas raised a brow, and Dean wondered how loud he’d been thinking.

“I am older than you can fathom, and I know more already than you can ever hope to understand. If I shared everything that I know rather than limiting it to what is—“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Older than dirt, knows everything, need to know basis—“

“Dean.”

“Seriously, Gabriel? Alive? Ring a bell? We need archangel grace to save Jack and mom?” _Fuck you, Cas. All this hunting for Lucifer, and we didn’t even fucking need him? What the fuck, were your little ‘hunts’ just some excuse to get away from me?_

“Dean.” Castiel's voice took a dangerous edge.

Dean knew he should stop. Should. “I mean, we saw him angel-bladed, Cas. You don’t come back from that. We felt bad about it, and everything. When were you going to tell us? We needed him! Don’t you give a shit about—”

“Gabriel wanted to disappear. His grace was already burning out before he held Lucifer off for you, and his last trick drained the rest. I have more than he does now, with your...help.”

_Yeah, my help. All that fucking soul-touching, you mean. Has that been your real game, all along?_

Cas raised his voice, as if to drown out Dean’s thoughts. “I ran across an...anomaly...a few months after his last round of trickery, and traced it to him trying to refuel. We’ve been keeping in touch ever since.”

“Can’t he refuel the way you do, by touching souls?” _By using someone like me like a fucking juice box?_

“It’s extremely painful for most humans, Dean. Few, if any, have the bond that we do. Gabriel is...unique, but not cruel. He is an archangel, he will regenerate. In time.”

“We don’t have time! He could’ve juiced up off of me!”

Castiel's eyes glinted. “I respected his wish to stay hidden from everyone while he dealt with his grace levels on his own. And without the bond, it would’ve been extremely painful for you. You could die from it.”

“Cas, I could’ve taken it! I could’ve—“

“You are mine. Not Gabriel’s.”

 _You fucking possessive piece of angel trash! If you weren’t so freaking over-protective, Jack and mom would be back by now!_ Dean’s brain was screaming a warning over Castiel’s rapidly darkening expression, but his mouth ignored it. He had too much momentum to pull up now.

 _You don’t own me, and you’re not_ — “You’re not supposed to keep secrets from the people you’re—“ Dean suddenly remembered Sam, standing silent as they argued, and his voice faltered. “The people you’re, you’re living in a bunker with.”

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and Dean realized his mistake, his rage fading as he remembered the trouble he’d already been in before all the insults Cas had likely overheard him thinking, heard him borderline praying. _Fuck._

“Indeed. And while we’re on the subject of ‘secret-keeping’, I think we need to have a private discussion, Dean.”

“Sure, whatever, as soon as Sammy—“

“Now, Dean.” Cas gripped his arm hard, likely leaving bruises on top of the handprint already there.

The hunter sputtered as Cas frog-marked Dean to the gym in silence, disapproval rolling off him in waves. When he was there, he released Dean, and the hunter moved to their mat.

As if being compliant would save him now.

“Cas—“

“How many days, Dean.”

“What?”

“How many days have you known you were healing too fast? Don’t lie to me.”

“Um.” Shit. _That’s how many times he’s going to belt me, isn’t it? Shit shit shit._ “Ever since the vamp nest in Omaha.”

Cas arched a brow. “That long?”

His belt whisked free of its loops, and he popped the leather. Dean tried not to jump, but failed.

“Well, now that we know permanent damage to you is...unlikely—“ He eyed Dean, and gestured to the mat. “Strip and present for me.”

“Cas—“ There was probably no way he could weasel out of what was coming, even if he was one hundred percent positive he wanted out, but he could try.

“You will respect me here, Dean. We’ve had this discussion, more than once.”

“Yes,” Dean cleared his throat, the threat in Castiel's voice going straight to his dick. “Yes, sir.”

The belt lashed out, coiling around his leg hard enough to startle a shriek out of Dean.

“I said, strip and present.” His voice was hard, reminding Dean not for the first time that he’d commanded garrisons, kept untold numbers of other angels in line.

“Yes, sir.” Dean hurried to drop his clothes and get into position, humiliated at having his ass up and head down for all of the ten seconds it took Cas to bring the belt down, blindingly hard. He screamed and writhed to the side, tears springing to his eyes.

“Cas, shit, shit, _shit_.”

“Count it.”

“Cas—“

“Count it, and remind me what lesson you’re learning here.”

“O-one. One, sir.” The pain was still bright and terrible, and Dean’s voice was wrecked with sobs already. “And, um. I’msupposedtotellyouthings.”

The belt snapped down, and Dean struggled to stay in place, his hand snapping back to cover his ass for a moment before he got it under control.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Count, and remind me what lesson you’re learning. Louder, and clearer this time.”

“Two, sir. And not telling you things is like lying to you, and people who live in the bunker together aren’t supposed to lie to each other.”

The belt snapped down three times in quick succession, tearing another scream from Dean.

“Three, four, and five, sir.”

He didn’t look up, but he could hear the sneer in Castiel’s voice. “Oh, no, Dean. Those didn’t count. Those were for your smart mouth.”

The leather cracked against Dean’s thighs, softer, and he spread his legs wider, canting his traitorous rump as the pain bloomed.

“As was that one. Try again.”

 _Shit_. “Um. Still on two, sir. And I should’ve told you what was happening immediately, because it could be dangerous, and you worry about me.”

“Better.”

The belt landed even softer this time, but his flesh was already on fire and he whimpered.

“Three, sir.”

“And what else have you learned?” A gentle edge had crept into the hardness of Castiel’s voice, the command less sharp, more patient.

Crack.

Dean gasped, his brain almost overcome by the sensations coursing through him, the ebb and flow of the pain, throbbing, pulsing, demanding he give himself over to their usual roles. “Four, sir. And, I, fuck. I shouldn’t backtalk you, because you only care about what’s best for me. Sir.”

“Quite right.” Crack.

“Five. Sir.”

“And?” Crack.

“Six, sir, and, um…” His mind blanked. What else did Cas want him to say?

“About Gabriel, Dean.” Crack.

“Seven, sir. And, and I should trust you, and know if there was any way to use Gabriel to get to Jack and Mom faster, you would’ve done it already?”

“Correct, Dean.” Cas leaned over, pressing his thighs hard against Dean’s overheated skin. “Also, no one will be touching that bright, beautiful soul of yours. No one but me. You’re _mine_.”

Cas drew back, and the next blow landed vertically across Dean’s crack, and he squealed, his cock taking sudden interest in the proceedings. The agonizing burn from the first strikes had already begun to fade, much too fast, and he had a feeling Cas could tell based on how the welts looked.

_Fuck, am I in for it, now._


	10. Chapter 10

“Gabriel—“

Gabe grinned, raising his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll take a look at your pet battery, Cassie.”

“His what?” Dean broke in.

“His battery. You know, since y’all are soul-touching-buddies and...everything.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the trickster, the jab hitting too close to his own insecurities. “I’m not just some power source Cas uses to juice himself up—“

Gabe smirked. “Ah, don’t be like that, Dean-o. C’mon, I promise I won’t probe you too hard. Not as hard as baby bro here does from what I—”

“Gabriel, enough. Dean, please.”

With an eyeroll that would make Claire proud, Dean moved to sit in the empty chair beside Gabriel. The archangel rubbed his hands together gleefully, and placed them on Dean’s temples.

Gabe’s eyes barely glimmered with a weak, sickly light, but he managed to push a tiny pulse of foreign grace into Dean. It felt...wrong. The smell of mould in an old library, too much lemon in a blueberry pie, being hit by someone who wasn’t Cas, Sam going to Stanford kind of wrong.

The archangel chortled. “Oh ho ho, Dean-o. What have we here?”

“What? What is it?” Dean tried to pull back, but Gabe sent another nauseating spurt of grace through him before letting him go.

He made a gesture as if he was a game show host, waving his hands to someone down to the stage for a prize. “Your boy’s part nephilim, Cassie. Tell him what he won!”

Dean squawked in protest, but Cas found words first, words that were too calm. “No, he can’t be part nephilim. Dean was born human, as were his parents.”

“Yeah, but having mommy knocked up by an angel isn’t the only path to superpowers, Cassie. You’ve heard the stories.”

“Story, yes. One story, one time, but that angel and his human perished not long after. No one knew how it happened. A curse? Latent powers awoken later in life?”

“Nope, nope, and nope. It wasn’t common knowledge for the plebians, Cassie, but it’s one reason why heaven strongly recommends not falling in love with the mud-monkeys.” He stood straight on the last bit, mocking Raphael’s delivery.

“Because there is a risk of pregnancy, yes, but I cannot impregnate Dean.”

Dean flushed, wondering how it would feel, carrying Castiel's offspring for him.

“No, but you fuck ‘em enough, put enough angel grace in ‘em, and sometimes their soul decides, hey this is nice! I like this, I think I’ll just soak this all up and let it all up in my nibbly bits—”

“Gabriel.”

“Ok, fine. Basically, pump ‘em full of grace, and sometimes it soaks into their soul. Nothing quite like straight up baby-making with the good stuff, but you get enough grace into an adult the right way,” Gabe wagged his eyebrows. “And their souls hang on to it instead of purging it.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “Why were we not warned of this?”

“Dude, you would’ve had to fuck Dean-o several times a day for months before this happened. What are the odds? Why put ideas into people’s heads? I mean, boy’s ass is lookin’ fine but damn—”

“Gabriel—“

“Dude, seriously, several times a day.”

“It kept his mind off his inability to open a rift and save his mother.”

Dean wanted the floor to open up and swallow him. Were they really going to talk about this now, in front of him? With Gabe leering at him?

Worse, had Cas just been...distracting him, with sex? Didn’t he want Dean? Surely—

“You,  _ you _ , Castiel, I-am-an-Angel-of-the-Lord-and-a-Commander-of-one-of-my- Father’s-Garrisons, you seriously fucked a human that many times? Daily? The same human?”

Cas tilted his head, considering. “On average, yes. Some days, it was less. Other days, when Dean’s need was greater, it was more. The plug likely contributed as it kept—”

Gabe’s face lit up in delight, but Dean managed to break in before he could comment about their use of sex toys. “Cas, is all this really necessary? Do we really need to get him this...involved?”

“Even weakened, Gabriel is still an archangel, Dean.”

“Technically, yeah, ok, but why does that matter?”

“What my little brother here is trying to say, Dean-o, is that you guys need my special brand of mojo to suck all that grace back out of you and put it back where it belongs without ripping your soul into teeny tiny pieces, and he’s hoping I have enough in me right now to do the trick.”

“No.” Cas scowled at his brother.

“Um, no? What do you mean, no? Cassie—”

“I only need to know if there are any negative impacts to his new resilience and potential immortality. The other two died, I cannot ask them.”

“Yeah, doing really stupid stuff, in battle. Um, he’s not gonna be human anymore? I mean, human’s weren’t really meant to have angel powers. You know this.”

“But he lacks the true powers a born-nephilim has. So far, I have only noted improved healing, faster movement, increased strength, better hearing and sight, and dramatically increased sexual appetite and stamina.”

_ Seriously, Cas? _

“Well, he’s not going to be teleporting anytime soon, no. But if you don’t stop fucking him so much, who knows?”

“I will endeavor to keep my proclivities in check moving forward. But will his current state harm him?”

“Technically, no. But hunters, demons, and angels, they’re all gonna want a piece of good ol’ Dean-o, and not for the same reason you want a piece of him. Well, most of them not for the same reason. Ok, some of them will probably want to fuck him—”

Dean finally found words, but his voice squeaked. “Technically, I already was already a target.”

“Dean, be quiet for a moment.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, and Cas raised an eyebrow. Dean’s jaw shut with a click, and he looked at the floor, pink heat flushing his cheeks. He shifted, feeling the plug holding Castiel's seed in him tug at his rim.

Gabe chortled again. “Daaaaammmn. You got your boy toy whipped.”

“Gabriel—”

The archangel trickster raised his hands. “Not that I’m criticizing. Shit, whatever you and Dean-o are into, Cassie. And Dad knows you guys must be  _ into _ it—”

“Gabriel.”

“Fine. Yes, Dean-a-rino should be fine. To be honest, even his sex drive should level out, now that his soul’s got enough grace bound up in it to take the edge off, drop his cravings a bit. I should probably smite him or report you or something, but Heaven thinks I’m dead anyway, so, you know. Be safe, use protection, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Toodle-oo!”

Gabe walked out of the room, still too low on power to try flying. Cas moved forward, one hand finding the base of the plug through Dean’s pants, and pressing it into the hunter. Dean moaned and shifted forward, seeking the angel’s warmth, and the angel slotted a thigh between his legs for him to grind on.

Cas leaned close, his whisper hot against Dean’s ear. “All that being said, Dean, if you want my grace removed from your body, I can call Gabriel back.”

Dean rutted against Castiel's thigh, his voice breathy. “I mean, we can always do it later if it’s a problem, right? May as well see how this goes.”

“I was being selfish, I admit. The idea of keeping you with me, indefinitely, without losing you to heaven at the end of your human lifespan...it is...an attractive concept.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” He humped harder, feeling Castiel's answering stiffness against his hip. “Cas…”

“Hmmm. You liked that, did you? Having someone know what I do to you? How often I do it to you?”

Blood flushed to his skin so quickly it left him dizzy. Yes, he’d liked it, even when he was embarrassed and humiliated. He’d liked standing in front of Castiel's older brother, plugged full of his seed while they discussed how often he took Castiel's cock, in all of his holes.

Cas pressed tugged and pressed on the plug, fucking him with it. “Hmm, it seems a shame to take this out. I think I would like to use your mouth instead.”

Dean whimpered and sagged against the angel.

“On your knees, Dean.”

Dean was sliding to the floor when Sam squawked in the room next door. “Dude, what the hell!”

“Heya, Sammy. Want some angel-powers? I can give ‘em to ya.”

Cas narrowed his eyes, and stalked toward the other room with Dean on his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride! Let me know if there was anything you particularly liked.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr under the same username [Adaille](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/adaille).
> 
> As always, I plan to post any timestamps as separate works in a series, so that I can tag kinks and warnings separately. If you want to make sure you see them, you can subscribe to my account (if you haven’t already).
> 
> If you like a bit of Sam in your Dean/Cas, there’ll be a few more optional wincestiel scenes for this fic, in addition to the planned destiel timestamps.
> 
> The first of them is here: [Ask For What You Want](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14678211%E2%80%9D%20rel=).


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